WereCars Diptychs
by Dragon of Dispair
Summary: Short stories set in the same AU as my story "WereCars of Cybertron". 2007movieverse. Not 2009movie compatible: And the road is long, whether you're searching for a home or not.
1. Aftermath of Telling: Names

so... i went and reread all of these in preparation for posting them (and in some cases that prep work involved coming up with titles...**shrug**), and noticed that most of them had arranged themselves in pairs according to theme. now, my first thought had been to just go ahead and post these in the order i'd written them in like i had replacement:roads, but with my new insights as to their themes, i've decided to arrange them into diptychs and put the paired ones together. an odd format, yes, but i think they make more sense this way...

btw... like were-cars itself, these are 2007movieverse and not compatible with either the second movie or any upcoming movies that may or may not come out before i'm done writing/posting.

and finally, i am continuing to write these since these are my last remaining transformers muses in the hopes that i'll get the others back if i do so, so if you have a question about the were-cars universe in general, please send it to me and i will do my best to write a short story that answers the question. no guarantees, but the attempt will be made.

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overall warnings: oddness and supernatural implications

further warnings for this story: none

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**Were-Cars Diptych One: Aftermath of Telling**

**Story One: Names**

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Eventually Mikaela did approach Ironhide for detail of what happened after Rhythm disappeared and Prowl took control of the Iacon Track.

Ironhide stared at Mikaela just a bit confused, trying to figure out why Jazz would have changed the names of some of the characters in the story. Most transformers knew what had happened in Iacon that began Cybertron's spiral into war, and Ironhide was not surprised that Jazz had done his best to fill in the blanks and add embellishments to make a good story for their human friend.

"What's wrong, Ironhide?"

"Nothin'."

He wandered away before she could correct him and insist he explain in that annoying, distinctively human way.

He found himself at the shooting range, the way he always did whenever he wanted to think without being bothered. No one would interrupt him for anything less than a full Decepticon attack while he was concentrating on lining up his shots perfectly to kill the targets with the least amount of ammunition. He didn't want to be interrupted while he was trying to figure out the sneaky little fragger's thought processes.

Most of the names were easy enough. He simply translated the English word into Cybertronian and added the appropriate name-alteration for the character's home city. Jazz had unsurprisingly chosen an almost literal translation for Prowl's name - all Ironhide needed to do was add the Praxan suffix to the Cybertronian translation. He'd been slightly more poetic in choosing Sunstreaker's and Sideswipe's English names so Ironhide actually had to go attempt three different translations for Sunstreaker and four for Sideswipe's before the addition of the Kaonex prefix-suffix combination gave him the correct names. Red Alert's took a bit longer since it was an English compound with an idiomatic meaning different than the definitions of the two words alone, but it still fit easily once the Iaconian suffix was added.

Redline gave him some trouble - no matter what he couldn't get a Cybertronian translation to match with the Iaconian name of the mech. While it was common knowledge now that Redline had originally been from Kaon, it was by an Iaconian name that Ironhide had known the mech, and it was that name which had been recorded in the histories. "Red Streak" or "Red Blur" would have been a better translation. Frustrated he added the Kaonex name indicator to several translations of "Redline" and found a more aggressive sounding Kaonex that name did match an idiomatic English meaning for "red line". He didn't know how - or if, really, since Ironhide didn't know what Redline had been called in Kaon - Jazz hadn't known Redline's Kaonex name, but it wasn't impossible the sneak had found it somewhere.

But ... the characters Jazz'd referred to as "Orion Pax" and "Melanthios", like Ironhide, already had English names - Optimus Prime and Megatron, respectively - and Ironhide could see no reason for Jazz to have come up for different ones. Eventually he came up with "The Limits of Peace" as a suitable translation for Orion Pax, which with the Iaconian suffix added, did sound like Optimus's name from before he was Prime. Jazz should not have known that - a Prime's former name was erased from all records. The only translation he could find for "Melanthios" was "Black Flower", which quite simply didn't translate into Cybertonian - Cybertron did not have plant life at all.

Growling, he tried to think in the tangental symbolic way Jazz sometimes favored. Trying to find a meaning to the phrase "black flower" was no help at all - it was commonly used but held no significance - so he looked up the symbolic meaning of the words individually. Black was commonly used for mourning and represented death. And flowers had so many symbols it was just ridiculous. He was just about to give that up as a useless exercise, when he found that white flowers were sometimes used to represent peace. He toyed with the idea that a "Black Flower" had been meant as "the Death of Peace". It would fit Megatron well, he finally decided, but didn't feel right for Jazz's sense of symbolism.

Black... was also the opposite of white. So maybe "The Opposite of Peace". That would make the name translate as "War". But there was something about the Cybertronian word for "opposite" that made him think that wasn't it. He changed it to "The Opposite of Pax" - as in the person named Pax - then put it in Cybertonian. The word "opposite" had had a few different regional meanings when it came to referring to people. In Kaon, a person's opposite was his enemy; in Iacon, he was your brother, and Megatron had been a resident of and held a name from both. In telling the story to Mikaela, Jazz had named the person everyone knew as Megatron "The Brother/Enemy of Orion Pax".

Pleased at figuring out his friend's thought process, he turned his attention to the last name: Rhythm. He found over ten different usages in English and generated over thirty translations into Cybertronian. None even came close to the Iaconian name of the person he'd known. And when he tried the Kaonex variations, like he had with Redline's, none of them even made sense. One did sound familiar and he added the Praxan suffix to that one. Very familiar. Slowly, not quite believing it yet, he pronounced the Praxan name with the slight Kaonex accent, the way the name's owner always did and insisted others also use, saying it made the name sound less ordinary.

He'd changed his alt form somehow, before joining the war effort, and had to have hacked the networks so his record numbers wouldn't give him away.

But that explained quite a bit about Jazz.

888

"What the frag is eating you?"

Ironhide whirled around in surprise, activated cannon aimed at the source of the interruption. Ratchet just tilted his head as though to ask if Ironhide was going to shoot him, and if he wasn't it was rather stupid to keep the cannon charged like that.

Ironhide bristled and growled in response. No he wasn't going to shoot the medic, but he'd have no problems if leaving him prone in the dirt plus a few dozen dents if the medic didn't back down. Ratchet scowled, and with an offended air, he took a half-step back and averted his eyes. It wasn't a full submission, but it was enough. He didn't really expect Ratch to be all that submissive anyway.

"What d'ya want Ratch?"

"I want to know why you're out here blowing rocks into their component quantum particles. I know you're a triggerhappy glitch, but seven hours is a bit much. Even for you."

He shrugged in response. "Just trying ta figure out how Jazz thinks."

Ratchet laughed out right. "Good luck with that. No one knows how Jazz processes."

"Prowl comes close."

"Prowl's processors are almost as fragged as Jazz's, just in a different direction."

Ironhide had to concede the point. Still that wasn't a bad thing - the ability to out think others without being out thought in return was what had made both mechs the best at their jobs as Autobots.

"So what in your musings on our cross-wired comrade brought on the urge to decimate the landscape?"

"Didn't want to be interrupted, is all," Ironhide growled out, reminding the medic that that was exactly what he'd done.

The scolding was ignored. Primus, Ratch could be obnoxious. "And?"

The black mech spun his cannons back into place as a resigned gesture. "Jazz told Mikaela what happened in Iacon just before the war. 'Cept he changed up a lot of the names and I was trying ta figure out why."

"Did you?"

"Yeah. Don't know what I'm gonna do about it though."

There was an expectant pause.

"Are you going to share?"

"No." Ironhide shoved past the medic to stomp back toward the base.

Ratchet huffed, then called out to the retreating form, "I'll just go ask Jazz then."

Ironhide ignored him. Just try, he thought, if he didn't tell me or Optimus, he sure as slag aint gonna tell you.

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**End Names**


	2. Aftermath of Telling: 10,000 BCE

overall warnings: oddness and supernatural implications

further warnings for this story: none

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**Were-Cars Diptych One: Aftermath of Telling**

**Story Two: 10,000 BCE**

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Mikaela was still thinking about the story several months later.

Jazz had found it "creepy", the amount of similarity between transformers "shapeshifters" and Earth's own legends of werewolves.

Indeed as Jazz's story had progressed and Mikaela had grasped the fundamentals of Cybertronian were-ness, she had also felt her skin crawl.

He'd also spoken of their gods - in a story so charged with religious and political opinions, that could hardly be avoided. He himself, he'd been quick to clarify, didn't believe in Primus and Unicron as gods as most did. He used the words, but insisted that they were fundamental energies at work in the universe, not sentient entities. The human words were just as valid.

"And what are the human words?" she had asked, expecting 'God' or 'Satan' or any of thousands of human gods to be his answer.

"Order. Chaos," had been his answer instead, "Magic."

Still, he'd continued, they'd never landed on any planet that had had legends so closely resembled their own circumstance. Primus and Unicron - order and chaos - affected every world, every sentient species had a word for magic. Though never had he seen them build so many parallels between that species and Cybertronians as Earth had. He didn't know why. He didn't seem interested in why.

Mikaela had never believed all that much in magic. Magic was for stage performers and fantasy wizards. The world was rational, was what she'd been taught in schools. And yet, Jazz, who spent a quarter of his time or more in the form of a car, believed that was possible because of magic.

And so she didn't know what to believe.

One thing she wouldn't believe in, though, was coincidence. There had to be a reason for the similarity.

She asked Ratchet what he thought, and only got a lot of grumbling on how Jazz should not be filling her head with that supernatural nonsense. Ratchet also gave her a very thorough lecture on how their self-repair systems worked, how reprogramming those systems fundamentally changed the way their bodies worked, and how the shapeshifter viruses are transmitted from mech to mech. When she asked how that applied to sparks that came out of the Allspark already shapeshifters, he said that the Allspark was the origin of all the viruses and randomly wrote it into new mechs. Now go away and let him work.

Ratchet, did not believe in their gods, in any form.

Ironhide only said he wasn't a philosopher. He wasn't programmed for it, and he didn't want to pretend he knew anything about it. "Ask Jazz. He's been a shapeshifter longest and knows more about it than any of us. Even if he insists on believing your moon affects us. Which it don't."

She'd already asked Jazz, and he didn't know.

Think, she told herself. Something in her mind was telling her that the answer was obvious and when she figured it out she would want to hit herself for missing it.

So, step by step. Cybertron was older than Earth. Jazz and Ironhide were both older than the human race. So it wasn't a case of Earth somehow affecting Cybertron. So, Cybertron had somehow affected Earth. Affected Earth's legends. Affected Earth's "magic".

Earth's energy.

She'd been right - now she wanted to hit herself. The Allspark.

Ten thousand BCE, Agent Banacheck had said, was when the Cube had landed on Earth. And now her curiosity had been peaked. What else had been going on on Earth in ten-thousand BCE? She Googled it.

And came up with 459,000 results, many for a movie she hadn't known existed featuring cave people and sabertooth cats. That was _so_ not what she'd wanted.

Everything possibly useful was vague, controversial, and contradictory.

The most she got out of it was that that was probably when the hunter-gatherers first realized that you could make plants grow where you wanted them to. It wasn't agriculture, but eventually it would be.

It was when cave paintings and small artifacts started depicting creatures (people, heroes, gods, or monsters, no one knew for sure) that were part human and part animal. Some could even have been of humans changing into animals.

She ignored the realization that she'd somehow come to believe in Jazz's energy/magic explanation for were-cybertronians, and for human werewolves.

"It was the Allspark," she told Jazz with some certainty next time she saw him.

He tilted his head in a 'come again?' gesture he'd picked up since landing on Earth. Probably from satellite TV.

"You said that Order and Chaos are active on every planet," Mikaela elaborated, "and that the Allspark was the most visible and obvious way they manifested on Cybertron. It was on our planet for twelve-thousand years - if this entire magic ... thing works the way you believe it does, it wouldn't have been just doing _nothing_ for all those years."

"True enough," he readily agreed, "but it's gone and there's no way to know for sure. That's the thing with belief - whatever you believe, and even if you believe in nothing like Ratchet, you can't ever prove it. Else what's the point of believing? And it don't matter much why anymore, does it? What matters is that it _is_."

And ... she could see that. So what if the Allspark had influenced human magic? From there she easily start wondering why the Allspark had landed on Earth to begin with. Or why both humans and Cybertronian primary forms were so similar - the Allspark hadn't been here to influence that. In the end, if she believed as Jazz did, it all boiled down to Primus and Unicron, Order and Chaos. To belief itself.

There were questions that couldn't be answered. What mattered was what was, not why it was.

Earth and Cybertron were similar. Why was unfathomable, but it meant that coexisting would be that much easier, if both sides were willing.

That was what mattered.

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**End 10,000 BCE**

**End Diptych One**


	3. Pulse: The Flow of Battle

originally written for Doctor Egon / lordchaos359. because i lost the bet. that was forever and a day ago, but if you read this, know that i didn't forget to pay up.

warnings: oddness and supernatural implications

further warnings for this story: none

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**Were-Cars Diptych Two: Pulse**

**Story One: The Flow of Battle**

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Redline had taught him patience.

Jazz couldn't help but think of his partner. Thoughts of Redline had driven him this far. Redline's ghost, in the form of everything he'd ever taught his partner was the reason he was still alive. Everything from picking locks, forging identifications, entering guarded premises illicitly and hacking computers, to blending in a crowd, following a person discreetly, and changing his appearance and voice had been essential. But now he couldn't help but think of the two most important lessons his partner had taught him.

Redline had taught Jazz patience and to value his own life.

Granted, Jazz had never been suicidal, nor suicidally reckless, but from the moment of his creation, he'd been told and treated like he was valuable only for the entertainment of the spectators. That his life and death were for their enjoyment, and before he'd met Redline, he'd believed it. But Redline had always been willing to show his worth.

Together, they had become not just winners, but champions. Together they'd fixed Jazz's glitch. Together they'd won over the arena's other most dangerous were-car team up. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had remained their rivals in the ring, but were solid allies outside it, and the four of them had escaped, never to return. Or so Jazz had thought.

Together, he and Redline had been worth something.

And now he had to decide - was he still worth something without Redline?

Melanthios - Megatron presided over a meeting of his inner circle below the maintenance crawl way Jazz now occupied. The small silver were-car could hear every word said, and, thanks to having hacked the communications hub, earlier, eavesdrop on most of the comm chatter. They were discussing plans to attack the near city-state of Vos. A map of Vos' defenses, pitifully few, lay on the table in the center. They were anticipating an easy victory, as Vos had few defenses, and none against a coordinated attack carried out by multiple trines of gun-weilding were-jets. No place did - such a thing should be impossible.

Megatron was planning to lead the attack personally. There was a good chance if he was taken out, the attack wouldn't go through at all.

Jazz wanted to kill him, as much as or more than he'd ever wanted to win an arena fight. He could. He had an EMP pulse grenade and a cluster bomb he'd nicked from a Decepticon armory. It wouldn't take any time at all to wire the cluster bomb for a chemical trigger, set it up here in the crawl way, and drop the grenade into the room.

Only thing wrong with that plan was Jazz wouldn't be able to get out range of the EMP pulse, then he'd be in range of the cluster bomb when it went off - and worse because he'd be in the crawl way and the explosion wouldn't be have to go through a wall to get him. And he couldn't just use the cluster bomb - the grenade was to take down their shields. So was Megatron's death worth Jazz's?

Redline would have said "no" and right now that was the only reason he was hesitating.

Choices... to kill or to live.

Every bit of training from the arena said to kill. His life was worth nothing and so wasn't even a sacrifice if it meant the death of his opponent. And this opponent was Redline's killer - revenge was hardly a novel concept in the arena, or in the pens - and so his death was the most important thing to consider.

The memory of Redline, and the memory of life in Iacon both said to live. He couldn't go back to either, but he couldn't help but think he'd dishonor those memories by dying like this.

And what about Prowl?

In the, admittedly short, time he'd known the Praxan officer he had gotten to know him well. Prowl was about logic - he wasn't emotionless, but even in emotion he was logical. If he were here, he'd undoubtably see the logic in deactivating Megatron at the cost of his own life.

That thought almost had him arming the bombs, but Prowl always considered all the information he had before making a decision - he even considered the value of not having a certain piece of information. And when Prowl made a decision, it was the best one for everyone.

Prowl would say there's more to this situation than Megatron, Jazz and a bomb. So what hadn't Jazz considered?

Megatron was planning on attacking Vos. Nearly all his lieutenants were in the room below. Barricade (_rusted traitor_ deserved to die as much as Megatron), the medic Blackout and his pet, Soundwave and his symbiot, others ... but not Starscream. He was on patrol with his new trinemates.

A bomb here wouldn't kill off the entire command staff. The Deceptions would survive.

It still might be worth it.

But if the Decepticons survived, they would continue this war they were planning, and every bit of information Jazz had gathered said the rest of Cybertron would be crushed, utterly, if something didn't level the field.

And ... that same information could accomplish that. He had gotten copies of schematics for the Decepticon weapons and shields, the technology for a shapeshifter to change his alternate form slightly, and he had what he'd raided from the armory. He knew troop movement and troop training and all sorts of stuff that could give Cybertron it's fighting chance.

What was that worth? Worth more than a couple of deaths here and now?

Yes, whispered that part of him that had been trying to think like Prowl.

This was going to be his best chance to kill Megatron, and if he wasn't going to take it, he needed to start getting out of Kaon and to where ever Prowl was. So, slowly, quietly, Jazz backed away from the room.

As he did so, Jazz suddenly felt as though he'd finally, fully escaped Kaon.

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**End: The Flow of Battle**

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unlike the others, this was deliberately written to be a two-part story. not like that note matters since i've turned them all into two-part stories, but still...


	4. Pulse: Dancer

overall warnings: oddness and supernatural implications

further warnings for this story: none

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**Were-Cars Diptych Two: Pulse**

**Story One: Dancer**

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Jazz stood beneath the high vaulted celling of the Prime's office. The urge to grovel in apology to the First of the Iacon Track for entering his territory without permission was almost overwhelming. That, however, would not help him make his case to Sentinel Prime. So Jazz stood tall and confident. He avoided looking at the black and white were-car standing to Sentinel's right, optics focused on the Prime.

Granted... the two security officers standing behind him did do wonders for his concentration. The bigger mech wasn't anyone he recognized, but Red Alert was taking Jazz sneaking past Iacon's new security systems as a personal insult. It was a near-miracle he'd been allowed to stand in Prime's presence without the magnetic restraints activated. The deactivated cuffs hung from his wrists like tacky jewelry, ready to lock his wrists together should he prove a threat.

And that would be just embarrassing after all the work he'd put into getting to this point.

"Megatron," Jazz spoke the mech's new Kaonex name without any hint that he knew who the tyrant had once been, "has completely overthrown Kaon's former structure. The shapeshifter gladiators are now the city-state's ruling class, with Megatron himself as the overlord. Wouldn't have minded the coop so much," a lie; Jazz despised everything Megatron did out of hatred for the mech himself, but a necessary one if he planned on hiding his past for very long from Red Alert and the Prime, "but I ain't gonna follow a jet and the rest of what he's doing's just wrong on every level."

Prime exchanged looks with his 2IC. Information coming out of Kaon was scarce these days. Refugees had fled the city-state during the early stages of Megatron's revolution, bringing news out with them, but as soon as the new tyrant's faction had the power to do so, they'd locked their borders. Escaping Kaon had required some _creativity_ on Jazz's part. Still, he didn't fool himself into thinking anything he told them about Kaon would come as a shock, but the recital was necessary.

"And what is Megatron doing?" Sentinel prompted.

He steeled himself. He'd be having nightmares about some of this for a while. Not that nightmares were anything new to him, but the last year had added some new twists. "He rounded up every non-shapeshifter still alive, gave them the choice t' become shapeshifters under his command. Computer records claim about half took that route - most of those choosing t' become jets if their systems could take it. Those that refused, he's throwing int' the gladiator Ring for his soldiers t' practice on. Somehow he's managed t' overcome the 'shifter's usual cliques and territory issues. They're unified under him - an army.

"He's preparing for a war."

Jazz's optics flicked over to the 2IC, though he was careful not to meet the were-car's gaze. He smiled. "But you knew that already."

Jazz shivered when the were-car spoke. "You have more specific information."

It was not a question. In response the silver were-car uncoiled a networking cable from its cache near his wrist.

Every mech in the room drew back in surprise. "Ya don' expect - " the larger security officer started before snapping his mouth closed with an audible _click_.

Jazz scoffed in his direction. "Don't expect one of you t' trust me that much." He looked back at Prime. "Most every thing's hacked computer files t' start with, and the rest I converted t' a transferable format. I can download everything t' a datapad."

"Of course." One wasn't offered, so there presumably wasn't one in the office that wasn't connected to the main networks. "Your comfort will be seen to in the meantime." Sentinel gestured to the tow security mechs.

They each grabbed one of Jazz's arms and he pulled away. "No need for that - I'm coming."

888

Jazz paced the confines of his newest cage.

He'd been led to comfortable, if plain, guest quarters. There were none of the tackier decorations the affluent in Kaon and other places Jazz'd been often liked - artwork on the walls, metal mesh floor coverings or metal wire tapestries - but the austere atmosphere didn't disguise its luxury. Gel-cushin padding on a recharge plate that had over thirty different comfort settings, an energon dispenser serving only the finest of all grades and bright inset crystalline-panel lighting all worked to put a guest at ease.

It wasn't working on Jazz.

When the door had first closed him in, Jazz'd unthinkingly lashed out with his claws, ripping open the wall next to the door, where the wiring that controlled the lock was. He'd been halfway through overriding the lock when he'd come to his senses.

Now he paced, and ruthlessly suppressed that little voice in the back of his CPU that told him to go finish what he'd started - it wasn't like he'd need to actually open the door, just unlock it.

The door swung open with a hiss of hydraulics.

Jazz whirled, half crouched to spring at the mech in the doorway. Mostly forgotten escape plans he and Redline had made a lifetime ago were flickering through his processor. The mech didn't react except to flare his sensory panels intimidatingly.

Then Jazz's processors caught up with his claustrophobia and he shifted, lowering his optics and turning an attack stance into a full submission. Prime's 2IC finally stepped into the room.

With the uncanny perceptiveness Jazz had long ago learned to expect from the other were-car, he did not make the traditional inquiry about his comfort. He just reached out to trail his claws gently along an armor panel on Jazz's shoulder, then tugged upward.

Obediently, Jazz rose.

"Here," the mech offered a (presumably blank) datapad, which the silver were-car took.

"May I?" Jazz gestured to the sitting bench across the room. The black and white nodded in response.

When Jazz sat, he noted without much surprise that the other hadn't followed him - hadn't allowed himself to be led - to the bench. Then, with a mental reminder to stop stalling, he curled up with his knees to his chest and plugged the networking cable into the datapad.

Connecting physically to a non-sentient computer was not a particularly pleasant experience.

For one, unless a mech had a set of customized filtering programs, the types of data were completely incompatible - causing confusion, mixed signals and a nasty processor-ache. For two, computers had just as sophisticated (and often nastier) firewall as mechs did. Jazz was not a sparkborn hacker, but he'd learned to overcome those difficulties from Redline, and perfected the use of that coding during his infiltration of Kaon. Still, it wasn't pleasant, and here, in the safety of Iacon, he allowed himself to lose awareness of where and when he was to concentrate only on the datapad.

Fortunately for Jazz, Sentinel's 2IC had done him the favor of bringing a 'pad that had been completely reformatted, lacking everything except a very basic operating system that wouldn't do anything more complicated than display the data on the screen. In fact, Jazz had to _install_ some programs so that some of the more esoterically formatted data would be read correctly. It was about as pleasant an experience as networking with a unsparked computer could be for someone who wasn't either a sparkborn hacker or specially programmed for networking.

He came back to himself with a massive processor-ache anyway.

He dropped the 'pad as it disconnected to rub his audios and try and soothe away the pain. After a few minutes he onlined his optics.

An energon cube had been left on the bench in front of him, next to where the datapad had landed when he'd dropped it. Tentatively, Jazz took a sip. It was a soothing blend of lowgrade, just a strong enough charge to make his systems focus on energy conversion rather than making his head hurt, and not enough to give all that energy to systems that didn't really need any. He slowly drank the rest.

The mech who'd had to be responsible for it was over near the door, examining Jazz's handiwork on the wall. He looked up and Jazz lowered his gaze to the empty cube in both submission and embarrassment.

"You didn't finish the overrride." There wasn't a hint of anger, reproach or much of anything in that tone.

Jazz shrugged. "Came t' my senses."

"One would think," the mech continued in that neutral voice, "that a shapeshifter with such a strong aversion to being locked up would have joined Megatron's revolution."

That had been one of Megatron's most loudly trumpeted promises afterall - that the undisputed masters of Cybertron would never face being locked up and that under him, those who followed would be the masters. It had been an attractive argument for many of the shapeshifter slaves.

Jazz just shrugged again. He hadn't really been asked a question and he'd prefer not going into his motives if he could help it.

The other mech wasn't going to give him that option though. "Without a clear understanding of why you came to us, Sentinel Prime will conclude that you are a Decepticon spy and put you in the brig."

"And disagreeing with the Decepticon politics ain't enough a reason?"

"Politics is not enough of a reason to trust a were-car who would betray and abandon his First."

The empty cube shattered. _Redline..._

The black and white were-car started in surprise. "I see. My condolences."

"He wasn't really my First." Jazz spoke hesitantly. He remained mindful of the information he didn't want part of his record and spoke only of Kaon and not of after. "Called him that, but the gladiator keepers kept the were-cars only two or three t' a pen so we couldn't form any real Track structure." He paused, picked a few shards of transparasteel off himself and placed them in a pile next to the datapad. "He was my _partner_."

He used the Kaonex word. Friendships among the gladiators weren't uncommon, but the rules of the Ring were kill or die. A partnership that remained true in spite of that - it was something a mech had once, if ever, Most never had it at all.

Silently, the other mech picked up the datapad then went to the door. Deftly he finished overriding the lock and, when it swung open, exited. Leaving Jazz alone in the now unlocked guest quarters.

888

"_Partner_." Sentinel pronounced the Kaonex word slowly, awkwardly, but essentially correctly. "What's that mean?"

"It is a Kaonex word," Prowl explained, "used only by the gladiators. Its exact meaning is someone whom one would defy the keepers for, and trust to do the same in return. It can refer to one's brother, lover, bondmate or any other to whom absolute trust is given."

Sentinel Prime and Prowl were alone in Prime's office discussing their newest informant and the information he'd brought. The information was detailed - maps, blueprints of military installations, schematics of a variety of Decepticon technologies - and a location just outside of Iacon where he'd dropped even more weapons, stolen so they could be examined - troop numbers, troop organization, troop training, the whos, whats, and wheres of Megatron's generals, overheard conversations between mechs on all levels of the new hierarchy. The plans to attack Vos. After seeing how neatly he'd nearly overridden the lock on the guest room door, Prowl wasn't surprised by the level of detail.

(Prowl had informed security about the overridden lock and instructed that it was to remain unlocked, though a higher watch was set.)

"This mech - Jazz didn't tell you who killed the person he grieves for or their exact relationship, did he?"

Prowl addressed the more important, unstated point. "Sir - My track's enforcers were originally from Kaon. They use that word to refer to each other and from the way they define it, I believe we should assume Jazz's feelings to be equivalent to losing a bondmate - regardless of their actual relationship. He won't betray us."

Likely Sentinel didn't need to know that if Jazz had come here it meant either he'd already killed the Decepticon responsible for his First's death, or realized his target was too well protected to assassinate and in battle would be his best chance. If the first option, it was no longer an issue, aside from Jazz's grief. If the second - the quality of the data he'd brought indicated the only Decepticons he wouldn't have been able to get to were Megatron and his innermost circle.

Either way - Jazz had to want to see the Decepticons destroyed, yet he was controlled enough to sneak around their territory for months gathering information rather than randomly attacking them.

To Prowl, whose processor had been preparing for war since the newly named Megatron had declared his intentions a year and a half ago, before he'd disappeared from Iacon, what Jazz had done proved him a perfect spy, saboteur and intelligence officer. Something the Autobots were at the moment lacking. Prowl had managed to insert a few spies into Kaon, but they were isolated, disorganized, and none had been as thorough as this informant.

"You're sure?" Sentinel asked, tapping the datapad's screen gently in thought.

"The reaction I observed," Prowl answered, "was genuine. It wasn't just his actions - it resonated through his energy field. That cannot be faked."

Sentinel scrolled through the data again. He, like all non-shifters, couldn't feel individual energy fields. Most shapeshifters couldn't, but before being infected, Prowl had seen the advantage it had given Rhythm, and after had made sure he learned the skill. It wasn't precise - often was only good enough to tell that a reaction had happened, not what that reaction was - but did have that advantage: something could be hidden, and many 'bots did so without even realizing it, but couldn't be faked.

"You would accept him as part of your track?"

Prowl nodded. He would. He wasn't sure yet exactly why, but he was _sure_ of Jazz. The feel of his energy field, his attitude, his control, his accent, his every gesture - each was a piece of a slowly assembling pattern. And though Prowl couldn't yet say he could see the entire pattern, he couldn't help but feel like some part of him knew it and was confident Jazz could be trusted.

Sentinel tapped the datapad on last time, then Prowl heard him comm Red Alert and Inferno to have Jazz brought to his office. Prowl cut into the channel long enough to remind Red Alert that unless he resisted or struggled, their informant was to arrive unrestrained.

Prowl then left to await them outside the office. He'd noticed Jazz's discomfort from the conflict between Sentinel's and Prowl's own presence during the first meeting. He wanted to get the rituals being a were-car First dealt with before adding Prime to the mix this time.

Red Alert stormed up the hallway a few minutes later, optics flickering in ire as Jazz and Inferno followed chatting amicably. Jazz's attitude was another piece that was added to the pattern forming in his mind. As Prowl watched, Inferno laughed and shoved lightly on Jazz's shoulder. Prowl tensed, stepped forward to help break up the impending fight.

But Jazz only laughed. He grabbed the much bigger mech's hand, and, saying something Prowl couldn't hear, curled Inferno's fingers inward. Inferno looked startled, then intrigued and Prowl wondered what Jazz'd said.

He pondered the incident during the minute or so longer it took the trio to reach a comfortable speaking distance. That shove - even gentle and playful as it had been - had been a very aggressive challenge to a were-car. Had Jazz been from Praxis or Iacon, it would not have been of note. In those city-states, shapeshifters mingled freely with others and learned to control their instincts around those who didn't have those instincts. But in Kaon, until Megatron's takeover, a shapeshifter gladiator would have only interacted with those in the same pen, the keepers, and their opponents. Jazz should have tried taking Inferno's arm off for that playful gesture.

The realization that he was once again pondering the behavior of a were-car that seemed determined to confuse him crystalized something in his mind and suddenly the pattern he'd been building about Jazz blazed into perfect clarity. Each piece fit perfectly, and it was clear why a part of him had insisted Jazz could be trusted. Prowl _knew_.

Jazz fell silent when they reached Prowl, as did Inferno a moment later. Prowl dismissed the two security officers.

Striving to keep the gesture impersonal despite his realization, he stroked a silver armor panel with his claws.

"Welcome to Iacon." Prowl murmered. There was so much else he wanted to say, but didn't. This was not the right place for such things, and hopefully there would be time later.

Jazz relaxed. The words and gesture hadn't been much, but they were acceptance. "Good t' be here - y'know as opposed t' being in Kaon."

He'd re-calibrated his voice. Prowl had no doubt it and the other changes he was noticing had been necessary to stay beneath the notice of Megatron, Starscream and Barricade.

"Come," he gestured to the office door, "Sentinel is waiting for us."

Sentinel looked up as Prowl led the way in.

"Jazz," the Prime opened without preamble. "The information you've brought us is invaluable. In return, I am willing to offer you sanctuary in Iacon with the other Kaonex refugees or even a place in the Autobot forces if you want it."

Jazz's optics flicked to where Prowl stood off to the side, as though to gauge what the resident Track's First thought of Prime letting him stay in Iacon. Prowl was careful to keep his stance perfectly neutral. He wanted Jazz as part of his track, but didn't want to influence this decision.

Finally Jazz sighed through his vents. "Yes - that's what I want."

"Good. As with the other Kaonex refugees, you're allowed to change your name, if you desire - whatever you choose, it to be will be what goes on the records."

"Can change it t' anything?"

Sentinel dimmed his optics, "I would not choose anything too pretentious if I were you."

"No worries 'bout that," was the laughed response. There was a long pause as he thought. "Jazz," he finally decided on.

Prowl nodded in approval - is was the same name, the same word, only with a Praxan suffix to mark it as a name instead of the aggressive sounding prefix-suffix combination used for Kaonex gladiators. As a Kaonex name it had meant something like _the flow of battle_ but the Praxan variation was closer to _dancer_.

As an Iaconian name it had meant _Pulse_, with the implication of being that of music, but still encompassing other sorts of pulses.

"Jazz it is, then." Sentinel wrote the name into the last blank of a form he'd obviously filled out while Jazz and Prowl had been in the hall and handed it to the 2IC. It was Prime's official approval to change Jazz's name in any computer records. "Prowl's your commanding officer."

That was a dismissal. Prowl led Jazz out.

"So Commander ..." Jazz piped up from behind him as they walked down the corridor, "What'cha going t' have me doing?"

"You brought us good information - Could you do so again?"

"Maybe not from that deep int' Kaon again, but sure."

"Could you teach others how to do the same?"

"Never tried before ... probably."

Still facing away from the smaller were-car, Prowl smiled. "Then I was going to put you in charge of our new covert operations division, _Rhythm_."

Jazz just laughed. "Didn't think I'd be able t' keep that from you long, Prowler."

.

**End: Dancer**

**End: Diptych Two**

.


	5. Pyrrhus: Winning the Battle

overall warnings: oddness and supernatural implications

further warnings for this story: battle violence

.

**Were-Cars Diptych Three: Pyrrhus**

**Story One: Winning the Battle**

.

Later he remembered the battle mostly in flashes - moments that impressed themselves onto his memory clearly enough to survive the data corruption, floating in a blur of visual, audial and comm traffic data that never made it past the temporary glitch to be recorded into his databanks.

...a tank flipped as it unwittingly drove over a Autobot mine...

... the flash of laser weapons...

...the heat of a missile hitting a comrade...

... Shooting a were-jet from the sky and the shriek of the jet's flightmates expressing their rage...

...The growls and howls of cars racing onto the battlfield...

... Diving for cover as the jets made another bombing pass...

...Separated from Prowl...

...Turning to see an unfamiliar were-car, only a second before it lept...

...ripping...

...tearing...

...standing over the dead were-car, staring down at the deep scratches left in his armor...

...Someone nearby yelling, "Get down!." just as he's plowed into by a black and white blur and the flash of another near-miss by the strafing were-jets...

... pain...

Static.

Optimus Prime awoke with a jerk, as battle settings that had been shut off by unconsciousness momentarily reasserted themselves. He flailed, attempting to draw his sword, but encountered only failure and the soft gel-cushin of a medical bed.

A medic was at his side instantly. "Sir, you need to calm down. You're in the medical facility at the base outside the Piezoelectronic Mountains."

His systems reset and slowly he leaned back. "Was I badly injured?"

The medic, fidgeted, half-revealed wings fluttering, bringing Optimus's attention to the small claws the mech sported - a were-jet medic. He was in the shapeshifters' facility.

Curious, but not too much so. Optimus was a very big mech. Always fairly large, the reformatting he'd gone through since inheriting the position of Prime had only increased the size and heaviness of his frame. Combine that with the modifications demanded of him by war - extra armor and a few places to stash weapons - and Optimus was usually the largest mech in a given base. It wasn't the first time he'd woken up to find that the only medical beds that would hold him were those in the shapeshifters' ward used for were-tanks and the largest were-jets.

Of course with the increase in the number of were-cars in the Autobots's forces due to battlefield infections, more and more beds and equipment were being transfered to the shapeshifters' facilities, and some bases had practically eliminated non-shapeshifter med bays altogether, with the few non-shapeshifters left being treated in their quarters rather than the medical facility. It could be that the Piezoelectronic Mountain Base was one such. That sort of thing didn't make it into the reports to Autobot Command.

"No, not badly injured, Sir. What is the last thing you remember?"

Optimus consulted his memory banks. "Fighting, but I can't seem to bring up the exact details."

The medic nodded, an odd bobbing motion a half-winged were-jet made with his entire body, "That's to be expected. Your battle programming interfered with the memory transfer from your temporary bank to permanent storage. The problem has corrected itself, but you'll likely never fully recall whatever was in your temporary bank."

An absentminded nod was all the medic got in response. Used to patients having been given news like that, he wasn't surprised. "Otherwise, you are entirely repaired and can leave whenever you feel ready." The medic paced away, then back, holding a datapad. "Your unit's lead were-car -"

"My Second in Command, Prowl."

The medic stiffened then nodded again. "Prowl, dropped this off earlier, with a request" - There was some sort of edge in the medic's voice that Optimus couldn't identify at the word *request* - "that you meet him at the firing range as soon as you were released."

"Thank you, medic." Optimus took the datapad, and slowly brought himself to standing. The datapad contained Prowl's usual, concise after-combat report, and a repeat of his request to meet him in the firing range as soon as he was released from medical.

Prowl was not shooting when Optimus got to the range. It was in fact empty, except for Prowl and Optimus, and the black and white was - there was no other word for it - perched on top a pile of storage boxes, so he was just barely taller than Optimus. Something inside the Prime felt intimidated by that, but he ignored it.

Prowl spoke suddenly, before Optimus had a chance to greet his Second in Command. "There are days I wish our agent had managed to steal whatever the Decepticons use to suppress shapeshifters' instinctual reactions to each other when he got the plans for integrated weapons systems." The sensor panels on the black and white's back hitched up almost aggressively, but then were very deliberately brought down. "Militarily, the were-jet territorial instincts have been the most troublesome - though were-car politics come close. We've managed..." Prowls sensor panels flicked up, then down again.

Optimus nodded. It was a point that he knew Prowl, as their tactician, continually struggled with. The Decepticons could bring dozens of were-jets to a battlefield, but since the Autobot were-jets were still bound by that territorial instinct, they could only counter with two or perhaps three jets, except in Iacon, where the single existing flight of five resided.

They'd adapted - ground-based anti-air weapons, traps, snares, sensor-blinders, flying drones, and sheer insanity had evened the odds somewhat, but it was always a problem.

But... "You didn't ask me here to discuss Decepticon were-jets, Prowl."

"No," again, the sensor panels flicked up, then were brought down. Prowl's systems kicked up a notch, filling their corner of the room with the sound of his engine running. "This time the problem is were-car politics."

"Problem with the base's First?" Before and through most of the war under Sentinel Prime, were-cars had been considered as territorial as the jets were. Just before the great leader had been killed, it had been discovered that a Track *could* enter the territory of another Track, if one Track First submitted to the other. Promoting the Track Firsts of those were-car battle groups that had to be mobile - like Prowl's, which stayed with Prime, no matter where he was - so that military rank dictated who submitted to who had taken care of most of the problems. The system was not without its difficulties, and fights among were-cars were still common, but it was the best the Autobots could do.

"No," again that odd gesture with the sensor panels, and this time that odd sense of intimidation he'd felt upon first sighting Prowl returned. "You are Prime, but I am First, and right now, that is a problem."

Then the sound of Prowl's engine intensified as he launched himself from the crates, claws set to tear at Optimus's wiring.

The larger mech was faster than his size would suggest - the Prime was already dodging, rolling across the ground, and coming up in a crouch, facing the mech, who was already collapsing into car-form. He reached for his energy sword, and found the hilt exactly where it should have been, but the weapon systems themselves still in medical lockdown.

Sneaky glitch, Optimus thought as he rolled again to dodge the car's charge.

The car's breaks squealed, the whirr of transforming parts. and the Prime was pounced by the mech-form of his - traitorous? - Second in Command.

Battle programing had Optimus catching Prowl and throwing him to the ground before the black and white could follow through with his attack and claw at Optimus. The were-car landed hard on his sensor-panels and lay there, stunned, trying to get the data overload coming from the appendages under control.

Optimus didn't give him that moment. He started to bring his fists down onto the stunned were-car. Of course Prowl tried to roll away, but the maneuver was not entirely successful - Prime still clipped him, sending a few shards of armor clattering across the floor.

They stood there, Prowl's engine whining with strain, and Optimus's own system beginning to growl. They made an unusual sight there. Optimus was over twice Prowl's height, but they glared at each other like they were evenly matched.

Then one of Prowl's sensor panels flicked up - challengingly, Optimus barely had time to realize, then Prowl was once again a blur of transforming parts. With a shriek of metal, Optimus lunged for the car, grabbing him by the bumper before he could get out of reach. With a growl, Prowl transformed again, breaking Optimus's hold, then pounced the bigger mech again.

After a short scuffle, Prowl was once again beginning to speed away in car-form. Optimus lunged and sped after him.

He caught the little black and white about the time they reached the snipers' target, about twenty miles away.

They tumbled, twisted, and landed, both in mech-form, Optimus holding Prowl to the ground, preparing to offline the mech with his bare hands.

But then, Prowl stopped fighting and tilted his head up, exposing the wires in his neck and Optimus found he couldn't go through with the strike. Instead he found himself running the tip of his finger along those wires and letting the black and white up.

This time, instead of those sensor panels compulsively flaring up, Prowl kept them lowered. "Your orders, my First."

Optimus Prime nearly stalled in surprise, then his sensors caught up with him, showing him the nearby area and he realized three things:

One, only another car could have chased prowl in his car-form for that distance - and further that, between the quickness of his natural design, speed modifications he'd received before becoming a were-car, and skill, Prowl was one of the fastest were-cars Optimus had ever encountered (though his 2IC always insisted there were faster), and so Optimus *shouldn't* have been able to catch him; two, most of Prowl's Track had been gathered here, making Prowl's defeat and Optimus's victory public. And three...

Experimentally Optimus tested out new subroutines he hadn't noticed were now there - subroutines that hadn't been there before waking in the med-bay - and the armor, circuits and wires in his hands clanged and clattered into a new shape to reveal long were-car claws.

...And, three, he couldn't even prosecute Prowl for assaulting a superior officer.

Frag.

.

**End: Winning the Battle**


	6. Pyrrhus: Winning the War

overall warnings: oddness and supernatural implications

further warnings for this story: none

.

**Were-Cars Diptych Three: Pyrrhus**

**Story Two: Winning the War**

.

Optimus stood over the remains of Megatron one last time.

Around his feet, humans scurried, preparing to inter the dead Decepticons in the ocean. Optimus had cited a religious mandate to convince the humans to allow him to come - which was true, as Prime it was his duty, and that of what was left of the priests, to see the sparks of the dead to Primus and Unicron when their shells were disposed of. There were no priests here, leaving the prayers to Prime.

He'd said them. Sent their sparks on. Except one.

But now he simply stood over Megatron. His brother. His enemy.

This spark was not likely to accept only a simple prayer to send his spark on. Not from Optimus anyway.

He thought of what he could say to his brother, his enemy, to bring him the peace to leave his shell. What words would Megatron accept from Optimus?

"You died, Brother," he finally trilled out in the language of prayers, the Kaonex variant, with more harsh sounds than he was used to speaking with to the dead. Appropriate since in the Kaonex dialects of both conversational language and that of prayer the word _brother_ could also mean _enemy_. "Your conquest is over and the Decepticons will never rule over shapeshifters and non-shapeshifters alike. You wanted that rulership, and your death marked the end of that, Brother. But the Decepticons won. The promises you said to them to lure them to you have passed. Shapeshifters will never be imprisoned or killed just because of what they are. Shapeshifters rule now. In that, my Brother, you won."

He imagined he could feel his brother's spark leave the shell. He couldn't of course, but the texts he'd read upon becoming Prime, between battles and planning and all the duties of leading a people, had all described what it was supposed to feel like when a spark went to the gods. And so he imagined that he felt it too.

The humans were staring at him. Some of them had heard spoken Cybertronian before, but the language of prayer was very different from conversational Cybertronian. Longer, softer and more fluid it didn't eliminate the harsh sounds, but incorporated them into the rest; it was almost song.

Jazz had always said that languages of prayer had first been those of music.

But then maybe they were staring at him for another reason. He had said that he was here for religious reasons, and he knew from some of the reactions he'd observed when he was arranging this trip that many had trouble believing robots even had a religion.

His engine turned over in annoyance, but he didn't otherwise show it.

Optimus stepped back and switched to english. "He can be interred now. Thank you for waiting."

They shuffled in response, except the commander of the ship, who said, "Isn't a problem. Man - robot's got a right to for his last rights to be said, don't he?" He turned to his crew. "What are you all staring at? Git this thing loaded onto the crane!"

.

**End: Winning the War**

**End: Pyrrhus**


	7. Magnetics: Attract

overall warnings: oddness and supernatural implications

further warnings for this story: minor battle violence

.

**Were-Cars Diptych Four: Magnetics**

**Story One: Attract**

.

There were Autobots who thought that Ironhide had come into existence, fully built and fully programmed as Prime's weapon specialist, a large black shadow at Prime's side, a nightmare to match Prime's dream. He hadn't of course. Before the war, he'd worked for Orion Pax at a bar in Iacon, mostly tossing drunk and unruly shapeshifters out on their skidplates before they could do too much damage to the bar itself.

Even fewer knew that the black mech had a history before that. As far as Ironhide knew, only he himself remained who knew why Ironhide held a name that even in the gentler Iaconian naming conventions meant _Armor_.

**An energy-rich asteroid field claimed by the city-state of Vos, currently under dispute...**

Ironhide ducked into a depression on the asteroid for shelter, as the missiles flew by and exploded against the airless landscape.

He couldn't stay here though. This crater was a temporary shelter at best. As soon as the rain of missilefire tapered off, he let go of his gun - cannon really - letting it bump gently against his leg in the lower gravity, and hauled himself over the edge.

He was immediately faced with a mech-like construction. He flinched from the barrage of lasers the thing shot at him from point-blank range. Fourtunately none of the lasers penatrated his armor, uselessly pockmarking various pieces of thick metal. He ducked under the thing's next barrage and brought his own weapon up, shooting through the head from behind and cracking through the cockpit, killing the organic inside instantly.

_Ka-thunk. Ka-thunk. Ka-thunk._

The sound of the little legged vehicle traveled through the rock of the asteroid to be felt, not heard, by Ironhide in the soundless environment. He turned.

The thing was about a quarter his size, and was little more than a cockpit for the organic pilot and a pair of long legs with the backwards-facing knees and ending in a metal three-toed foot.

Something lit up in the cockpit, and Ironhide cursed, bounding toward the thing and grabbing it. With a soundless snarl, he swung the thing, smashing it into the crust of the asteroid. It splintered into pieces, both legs snapping, spraying bits of metal everywhere.

Ironhide went to bring his gun around to shoot the thing dead, but as he did so, noticed the small dot of an infrared laser on his armor. Cursing, Ironhide didnt' try locating the second tagger and tried to run for the crater.

He didn't make it. A barrage of missiles - two-hundred and eighty, unless the rest of Ironhide's squad had managed to take out the seven missile carriers (unlikely, last he saw his squad, they'd been on another asteroid dealing with another twenty of these imitation mechs) - streaked from the other nearby asteroids to slam into him.

The last thing Ironhide thought before he shut down was that explosions in a vacuum weren't soundless when they happened on your chassis.

**Vosk interstellar troop transport **_Starfall_**, medical wing...**

He was not surprised to wake up in a medical facility. The _thrum_ of the interstellar transport made his wires vibrate. Still in space then. Blue optics flickered on to take in the room. It was exactly like every other Vosk military medical facility Ironhide had ever been in. Seen one ship, seen them all. Muted alerts in his processor vied for attention, and seeing no medic to harass as yet, he examined them.

His systems kicked into a panic mode and he threw off the silvery anti-radiation blanket to reveal his armor-less form. He cursed.

The medic that was walking in to the room just as he did so stopped and reset his optics. "Your creche-mates weren't exaggerating about your attitude, I see."

"What - why -?" the questions trailed off into a hiss of his now-exposed hydraulics.

The medic calmly pulled a chair closer to Ironhide's medical berth. "You were hit by two barrages of approximately a two-hundred missiles each before your creche-mates found you. Your armor was slagged and had to be removed. Fortunately nothing penetrated into your internals; you shut down from the heat of the explosions, followed by the melted armor freezing again after flowing into your wires."

That made sense. "Surprised you woke me up before it was all replaced."

The medic shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry Ironhide. We lost the asteroid field and Vos has decided that as soon as we land, you and your creche-mates are going to be handed your severance pay."

Severance pay. They were being discharged from the military. He narrowed his optic shutters. That wouldn't pay for replacing his armor, not with anything but the thinest of civilian tin plating.

Even without armor, Ironhide was still military-built, with a built-in strength few his size could match. The medic retreated from the room fast as first the diagnostic equipment, then the recharge plate itself, went crashing against the wall.

**Iacon...**

Years later, Ironhide stood behind Orion Pax as they entered the temple of the Prime.

"Your sure about this Ironhide? You've always said you didn't want to be part of the military ever again." Orion always had been too nice...

"Yeah. Sure as anythin'." He followed his friend up the steps. He *had* sworn that he'd never join a military again, but this wasn't a matter of defending or taking some tiny pile of metal asteroids from whatever vicious organics had decided they belonged to *them*, or squabbling with the other city-state over similar piles of metal rocks. He'd avoided joining up so far, if only because Iacon needed someone to train its citizens to defend the walls and streets, but paid for it by watching Cybertron slowly come apart by the seams around him.

And besides, Orion was going to need a friend in his new life as Primus' chosen keeper of order, and the leader of all those who opposed Megatron's rule.

Like two twin planets, or perhaps twin stars with all their potential explosive energy. circling their gravitational center, as Megatron had come to lead the Decepticons, his brother was being called - by Primus himself, if one believed in such things - to lead the Autobots. Poetic, if one cared; balance, maybe, if that was important to you. Stupid religious glitchpiles. Bother. Enemy. Connected by fate or destiny or some such slag. Already it was being said that Megatron could only be defeated by his brother/enemy/opposite, that that was the reason Primus was calling Orion for the position of Prime.

Orion _needed_ someone who wasn't going to buy into that pile of slag to stay sane. And Ironhide was it. Not that Ironhide didn't believe in Primus, or that the Prime was his chosen, but it was a long way for him from believing in their gods, to burdening his friend with that belief. Primus was a god; Orion, or whatever he'd be called once he was Prime, was not.

Besides, he'd once survived five-hundred and sixty missles exploding, give or take a few duds, against his chassis. He'd do it again, as soon as he got his civilian armor replaced with something a bit more fitting of a military model...

Ironhide certainly looking forward to it. And the Decepticons would learn to tremble in fear.

.

**End: Attract**

.

note: for anyone who doesn't recognized the references - ironhide's battle against "mech-like constructions" was inspired by my having been drawn into battletech. it's amazing how many missiles can be flying through the air at any given moment in that game...


	8. Magnetics: Repell

overall warnings: oddness and supernatural implications

further warnings for this story: none

.

**Were-Cars Diptych Four: Magnetics**

**Story Two: Repel**

.

Skyfire was not oblivious to what was happening on Cybertron. He sent back regular updates, as he was required to to to keep his assignment, and in return got a databurst of news from the Iacon Research Institute. So he knew what was happening. And it wasn't like he didn't care, but he couldn't go back.

If he went back, he'd have to face a choice - Starscream or his conscience.

When he'd read about the alliance of shapeshifters and non-shapeshifters standing against Megatron's tyranny who were calling themselves Autobots, he'd been appalled. It represented a breakdown in everything shapeshifters had been since Unicron had marred the perfection of Primus's creations. Abomination to put themselves under the command of the Prime, of Primus's keeper of order. Further abomination to fly with were-cars as though they were a flight or _trine_. Subordinate a shapeshifter's normal hierarchies to a military structure. No. And worse were the Decepticons, who, if the reports were to be believed at all, had *suppressed* the shapeshifter programming of their soldiers completely.

The cold certainty of space and the small, chaotic lives of organics were better, made more sense, by comparison.

He was glad when each time he reported back to the institute that no order to return and join the war effort came. He expected it, dreaded it. More and more his databursts were being influenced by the Autobots - their propaganda, their goals, the slowly widening gulf in culture and language and programming between them and the Decepticons and from him - but no command to return.

He could read from the censored databursts that the Autobots were short on were-jet forces. Skyfire was big, already outfitted with many sensors that could be useful in a combat situation, and could likely be modified for more weapons than a more averagely sized were-jet. After a while he began to get suspicious of the lack of command. He wished it would just come, so he could refuse and be labeled a renegade honestly, rather a tacit member of the Autobots because he was connected to Iacon.

No order came. Instead it seemed that the Autobots - who Skyfire *knew* had to have taken over the Institute over the course of the years he was gone - were content to let him stay out here, taking centuries to sort out the complexities of alien ecosystems, while they fought for Cybertron.

Finally sick of the waiting, Skyfire sent a private message - his first since he'd been sent out here - to Perceptor added onto the end of his report: _Why haven't I been ordered back?_ He encrypted it as best as he could, hoping that Perceptor still had the cypher they'd developed long ago. He wasn't sure he should have - surely the war had forced the Autobots' decryption specialists to improve on their arts - but he couldn't stand the thought of *not* encrypting it. It was private; if the Autobots wanted to read it, the least Skyfire could do was make them *work* at it.

It was several routine databursts until Perceptor answered. Skyfire was surprised at how relieved he was. During that time he'd finally come to *understand* how slowly time was moving for him in comparison to the rest of his race at the moment - he'd assumed before that Perceptor would still be alive, but with a war going on there was no assurance of that, no assurance that the Autobots could, or would, get a message to him if he'd become a Neutral or even a *Decepticon*. Even now, holding the were-tank's reply in his hand, there was go guarantee that he was still alive - only that he had been alive when he wrote this message. _Prowl says it's because you can hold onto everything we've lost. I don't think he's told Prime you're out there._

Skyfire vaguely remembered Prowl, the Praxan officer that had been sent to Iacon to help the police with a rash of murders committed by a shapeshifter. Rhythm had liked him. He wondered how the officer had gotten to a position within the Autobots to make that sort of decision, to withhold information from even the Prime.

So Skyfire was an Autobot then. On some level he'd known it since he'd begun expecting to be recalled to join the fighting. But instead of war, someone had decided he'd better serve their cause by ensuring they had a unaltered link to their past, to the way it *should* be, to follow back. Someone had decided that a few victories on the battlefield Skyfire could provide wasn't worth the risk of completely losing themselves. He was a time capsule.

Finished with his investigations of this planet, which had little except a sea filled with microbes, porifera, ctenophores, anthozoa, hydrozoa, and other simple life forms. He set a notice to return in three hundred thousand planetary revolutions to see how it would change in that time, then set to rocket back to the stars.

A lonely existence, to be sure, but a better one than the one offered by the intermittent transmissions he still received that weren't from Iacon.

_We flew perfectly together. Glorious. We could do so again... these fools are nothing compared to you... We could overthrow Megatron. We could rule. Come back and fly with me... Skyfire, my partner..._

_._

**End: Repel**

**End: Diptych Four**


	9. Full Moon: Kinks

overall warnings: oddness and supernatural implications

further warnings for this story: more supernatural implications than usual...

.

**Were-Cars Diptych Five: Full Moon**

**Story One: Kinks**

.

They'd all talked about this before. Many times since leaving Cybertron and its chains behind. Within a month of landing on Earth the subject had been brought up, then settled once again:

Earth's moon did not affect them.

Which was a complete load of _slag_, Jazz thought as he contemplated his claws.

Truthfully ... he didn't hold the mistake against them. None of them had been sparked as shapeshifters and they'd left Cybertron long ago - long enough to forget that the forced change was only the most obvious of the moons' effects, that most of those effects were much subtler.

Thus the four other Autobots ignored what Jazz knew.

Right now Ratchet and Ironhide were verbally attacking each other. They saw it as no different than they're normal fighting, but Jazz also knew that before the night was out they would end up fighting or interfacing (or both) and there was the possibility that Ratchet rather than Ironhide would be their Third come morning.

(Honestly - Ratchet and Ironhide switched ranks so often, it barely affected the group dynamics anymore when they did.)

Optimus paced, agitated, and fustrated that he couldn't figure out why he was agitated. Jazz could easily see the mech their leader had been before the war in him - Orion's selective disbelief had only changed from a general disbelief in shapeshifters to a more specific disbelief in shapeshifters' supernatural aspects.

Bumblebee slunk around the base avoiding them all. Jazz couldn't blame him - they were all spoiling for a fight. And while in the no-rule fighting of Autobot vs Decepticon 'Bee was as tough a warrior as could be, he was no match for the others in the dominance/submission challenges of intra-track politics.

Outwardly, Jazz was the calmest, the least affected. He crouched in the desert, still as a stone statue looking up into the moonlight.

Inwardly, he really, really wanted to race.

Too bad it wan't going to happen. Jazz wasn't sure Ironhide had realized it yet, but the black mech had submitted to him barely a minute after moonrise. Jazz had known exactly what he was doing when he'd submitted to Optimus only ten minutes after that. Maybe if he hadn't, he could have raced Prime - nothing said he had to win the race - but challenging their First (wether the fragger acknowledged the title after all this time or not, that's what he was) after submitting was just inviting trouble. And Optimus would insist on being annoyingly contrite about hurting Jazz when the sun rose in the morning.

Bumblebee, who was Jazz's usual racing partner, wasn't even worth considering tonight. Poor 'Bot would only stall out in panic at the thought of racing the Second under a full moon.

If Jazz ever admitted to a reason to miss Cybertron, this would be it: the moons' obvious effects had left no room for confusion.

He was, well not _happy_ they weren't going back, but that was for those who did miss their planet. He didn't miss Cybertron. There was nothing left on Cybertron for him to miss.

To Jazz, Cybertron was inprisonment and enslavement in Kaon, the shattering of the life he'd built after in Iacon, the War.

Redline dying.

Prowl ... well, yes, Jazz might have gone back for Prowl and the twins, but they'd left too, the First and enforcers of their own small track, same as Optimus's "team". And Prowl, of any were-car First who had ever commanded a Track of his own, would answer the Prime's call. If he was alive.

So he contented himself to waiting. Their restlessness under Earth's moon would smooth out - either as they settled into the patterns of their new planet, or as more Autobots arrived and a more formal Track structure was needed.

Tonight ...

Tonight the moonlight itself pressed against his plating like a physical pressure. The Earth's most basic energies positively sang with the forces Jazz had been taught to name _Primus_ and _Unicron_ - or more universally, simply Order and Chaos. Humans had their own names for these energies and, this being their planet and all, those were probably more accurate.

Every planet had its own energies, its own cycles. Earth was just the only one they'd landed on whose energies and legends had so closely matched Cybertron's. The Allspark's influence, or so Mikaela had thought.

Unlike Cybertron, though, Earth's was ruled not just by her lunar cycle, but by her solar cycle as well. Which made the energies ebb and flow and converge differently from month to month. Tonight was the full moon of the Hunter's Moon. Every predator was active tonight, looking for prey before winter set in. And while were-cars weren't predators like werewolves were said to be, the energies spoke to the alien shapeshifters just the same.

That was what Optimus and the others didn't understand, caught up as they were in the rational explanations of reprogrammed self-repair systems and extra coding irreversibly added to central processors (as though this gift was only a _virus!_). The moons meant _slag_. What mattered was the energy - its effect on a mech's spark energy was what made a shapeshifter a shapeshifter. Primus and Unicron (wether one believed them to be gods or opposing energy flows) didn't care about their shells. They only touched their sparks, and when that happened their shells followed suit.

So sure, Jazz didn't have any predator instincts for the Hunter's Moon to touch, but he really, really wanted to race. Motionless as he sat in the desert, he nearly vibrated with the effort it took to not go Challenge Optimus. Consequences be damned.

There was a sudden shift in energy - a being less in tune with their own energies than Jazz was would have interpreted it as a slight change in the wind - and a barest hint of vibration against preternaturally sensitive audios, which had Jazz transformed and speeding across the desert almost before the thought occurred to him.

He came close to the city. A wolf pack ran through the scrub brush and Jazz could feel the energy fields of a were-car track driving of the joy of it - a werewolf pack.

This ... was probably not a good idea. But Jazz was beyond caring as he zipped over to intercept the wolves.

The Lead wolf brought the pack to a halt as Jazz approached. Jazz himself stopped at what his were-car programming/instincts said was a polite distance. The wolf, a scarred individual with black fur turning grey around the muzzle, stepped forward, bristling and growling, ears folded backward and tail up.

The wolf was beautifully expressive and Jazz could never hope to match that in his car form. Still he tried, backing away from the Lead wolf at exactly the same pace as the werewolf advanced - just as he would when faced with the First of a were-car track whom he didn't want to challenge.

The wolf stopped, flicking his ears in confusion. Jazz tried to sink lower on his suspension, thinking _Please - just for the night_. Then the old wolf growled and Jazz was surrounded by the the pack, all rubbing against him and against each other.

When they backed away, the Lead wolf howled, a clear sound that sent shivers through both Jazz's audios and spark. The other wolves joined in the song and, lost to the gathering energy, Jazz joined them. The low growl of his engine was a strange juxtaposition to the higher pitched howls.

They ran, and this time Jazz drove with them across the desert.

It wasn't a race. The wolves weren't even running at a speed Jazz would normally find even mildly entertaining. But swept up in driving with a pack of shapeshifters in harmony, he didn't care.

888

The full moon came and went without any real effect on the Autobot base. Optimus was still in denial, and kept himself busy with continuing to work out the specifics of their agreements with the human governments. Bumblebee had gone to pick up Sam and Mikaela - the three of them had scrapped together the money to buy a couple of copies of a new X-Box game and were itching to try it on multi-player.

Ratchet was now their Third, but that was hardly anything new and would switch again in few months anyway.

Usually Jazz would have joined Bumblebee and the kids, or annoyed Ratchet until the medic was ready to rip out his radio systems just to get him to shut up. Today though, he felt calmer than he had in a while and just wanted to lay outside "sunning" himself. And listen to his radio.

Late in the afternoon, he noticed he was being watched.

The man was tall and (if Jazz had learned anything about judging human age) older than any of the soldiers assigned to the Autobots. His black hair was starting to turn grey in streaks.

He was familiar somehow but Jazz had never seen him before in his life.

He was about to (gently) remind the human that this was military property when a step closer made the man's energy field scrape against Jazz's. The were-car stiffened a bit in surprise.

"Thought so."

"How did you _find_-?" Jazz managed to choke out, otherwise speechless. Jazz was never speechless.

The werewolf grinned, a toothy, clever expression. "On your own, you smell enough like a car that I probably couldn't track your scent, but you mixed scents with us last night. You might as well have just put an X on a map."

A half-second internet search told Jazz that canines in general and wolves in particular, were known for a keen sense of smell. He shrugged. "Didn't think of that. Mostly, that ain't a sense that's all that useful t' us - we all smell like cars, like you said."

The werewolf stepped forward. This time - during the day, on the Autobots' territory, and thinking clearly - Jazz didn't back down. He didn't challenge the werewolf either; just neutrally held his ground. "Now that I'm here, I can tell you've got a Pack of your own. Why weren't you running with them last night?"

"We're just a lil new here," Jazz wasn't going to expose his track's problems and politics to a stranger. Not even a stranger who might actually understand. "Heard your howling and next I knew, I was trying t' drive with you for the night. It won't happen again."

"I wouldn't mind it happening again..." the tone was inviting. The wolf was starting overtures to invite a new member to his pack.

"Won't." Jazz asserted. "And First wouldn't be too happy with you trying t' steal his Second."

This time the werewolf started in surprise. "I'm sorry. I thought ..." ... he was a newly built or newly infected looking for a new track, Jazz's mind filled in the blank.

Granted he'd done a good impression of it last night, so he didn't take offense, but he wasn't going to explain why either. "We're working out the kinks."

"I can see that." The werewolf backed away, managing to retreat without submitting. "When you do, have your Alpha introduce your pack to us. I want to know who I'm sharing a border with."

"Sure thing."

With a nod goodbye, the man transformed and a black-furred wolf just starting to turn grey around the muzzle loped away.

Next month, Jazz was going to goad Optimus into racing with him _before_ submitting. Just see if he didn't.

_._

**End: Kinks**

AN: This was the very first sidestory to WereCars I wrote, somewhere around the time that I was writing chapter four or five of the main story. This, honestly, is how I was thinking of Cybertronian Shapeshifters, and still do. Other characters - like Pre-Infection Prowl - had different views and experiences than Rhythm/Jazz and it never came through in that story.


	10. Full Moon: Flaws

overall warnings: oddness and supernatural implications

further warnings for this story: mild battle violence

.

**Were-Cars Diptych Five: Full Moon**

**Story Two: Flaws**

.

Optimus was not oblivious.

Jazz could literally drive circles around his own larger truck form. There had never been any question that if Jazz wanted to win a challenge race against Optimus, he would. With that knowledge firmly in both their processors, it had always been simpler for Jazz to submit to Optimus rather than going through a farce of a challenge race where his speed advantage would become irritatingly obvious.

So Optimus knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, when Jazz began on insisting on those farce-races every month, that something was up with his Second.

But if there was one thing Jazz knew how to do (there were in fact many things Jazz knew how to do, but if there was one thing Optimus found both the most useful and the most irritating of all the things Jazz could do well) it was keep secrets. The silver car was being stubbornly silent on the subject. Optimus was about to start tearing the fragger's wires out in frustration.

Accordingly, Ironhide, Ratchet and Bumblebee had made themselves scarce by the time Optimus finally did snap.

Jazz had been driving - backwards - less than four feet from from Prime's front grill, the ragged moonlight gleaming off his silver form when it managed to peak through the patchy clouds. Teasingly he flashed his headlights and wiggled, sending desert dust spraying over Optimus's windshield.

With a growl of his massive engine, Prime lunged forward, transforming and leaping. Before they hit the ground, Optimus was holding a shrieking, growling, silver mech instead of a shrieking, growling, silver car. They went rolling across the desert floor, hissing, growling and clawing at each other. Prime ripped out a few wires and Jazz clawed his legs against the larger were-car's hip, ripping off the armor and exposing the joint.

By the time they pulled apart, the ground was littered with debris - bits of armor, wires, circuits and fluids.

Ratchet was going to murder them both, assuming both Optimus and Jazz came out of this confrontation in a repairable condition.

They circled and growled at each other, then Jazz tilted his head and several armor panels bristled up, then down. Challenge.

Prime growled and lunged, hoping to grab the silver mech before he could transform and speed away, but Jazz was faster than Prowl had been centuries ago, and all the larger mech could to was collapse into his vehicle form and try and catch up.

Not that Jazz was truly trying to get away from his First. He dropped back to scrape playfully against Prime's side, then rocketed forward and flipped around to repeat the teasing maneuver that had set Prime off in the first place. This time Prime only growled and waited for a better chance to pounce again.

It came when Jazz let Optimus pass him so that he could flip around to drive forwards again. They went tumbling across the desert floor again.

888

Dawn found both mechs injured, energy-deprived, and somewhere in - Optimus checked his GPS - Arizona.

Jazz had submitted, as he had at the end of every one of these false challenges and now they both just sat in the rocky desert, trying to clean the sand out of their joints before they returned to the base in California and faced Ratchet's wrath.

"Are you going to tell me what that was about yet."

Jazz's optics glowed almost white in the dim morning light. Despite the damage, he looked calmer than he'd been since landing on Earth. "Nope."

Irritating fragger.

_._

**End: Flaws**

**End: Diptych Five**


	11. Partner: Vicious Defender

overall warnings: oddness and supernatural implications

further warnings for this story: battle violence

.

**Were-Cars Diptych Six: Partner**

**Story One: Vicious Defender**

.

The energy bars flickered off just long enough for Redline to be shoved roughly by the massive drone that was accompanying the keeper for the "dangerous" job of transporting a shapeshifter gladiator to and from the pens. The faded-red former thief, now were-car gladiator, went tumbling into the new cell. By the time he recovered from being tossed, the keeper and his assistant-drone had left.

He looked around the dim cell. It was exactly like every other pen in this arena complex. Dim red lights that flickered, grimy metal walls that dripped with the dirty mildly acidic rain that came through the poorly maintained architecture. This particular pen had a number of empty energon cubes scattered across the floor, as though the keepers were reluctant to regularly enter the cell to collect up the precious glass objects. Somewhere in here there was probably a pile of metal-mesh scraps in lieu of providing the gladiator with a recharge plate.

He met the blue-white optics of the cell's other occupant, who was currently crouched in the pile of rags as Redline suspected. They both bristled at each other - one strange were-car to another. Finally the other lowered his gaze and smoothed out his armor plates. Submission, though not one that precluded the possibility of resuming the challenge at some point in the future. In fact it seemed the other car - a generic grey primed metal color with no paint - had simply been too tired to follow through.

Redline, who'd never been submitted _to_, regardless of the reason, in the entire time since his sentencing match, was thrown slightly off balance.

"So wha' sor' a' trou'le are y' in?"

It took a second to sort out what the mech had said through his gladiator's accent, thick enough that he had to have been a sparked shapeshifter who'd never been outside the complex. When he did, Redline flickered his optics. "What makes you think I'm in trouble?"

"Y're in here, an' th' nigh's dark t'nigh'. Th'y wan' y' dead."

Redline stiffened. _Glitched_. He'd heard of such mechs. Programmed weres, who went murderous when they were in vehicle form. And yes, tonight was the night both moons would be dark. Redline hadn't seen the sky since he'd been arrested, but the moment the were-car virus had settled into his systems and done its work, he'd always known what day of the lunar cycle it was.

"Fighting. They had to physically separate me from my last cellmate before we killed each other."

The other chuckled. "Th'y shoulda jus' thrown y' both in th' ring t'gether and been done wit' it."

Redline shrugged. "He's a tank. Guess they're too short on those right now to let them die for anything except a scheduled death match."

The primer-grey mech just grunted, not questioning that Redline, a were-car, could kill a were-tank in a one-on-one match, and his optics shut off - going in to recharge maybe. "M' name's _The Flow of Battle_." Or not, at least not yet.

Probably a fitting name, if this were-car was any good in the ring despite his glitch. He himself had once held a name that indicated stealth and cleverness above all else, but now, "Mine's _Vicious Defender_."

The now named Jazz didn't respond, his systems slowing down into recharge.

888

Jazz didn't offer to share his rags and Redline didn't try and force the issue, despite the mech's earlier submission. Jazz obviously didn't expect Redline to survive the night, and so wasn't inclined to share. For his part, Redline was edgy and paced their pen. It had exactly the same dimensions of his old pen, down to the millimeter - he'd checked, using the skills that had gotten him into this extended death sentence in the first place.

The transformation nights always did this to him. He couldn't understand how _anyone_, especially not a glitch, could recharge with the forced change so close.

Four steps from one wall to the other. Four steps back. Four steps. Four steps. The unseen darkness of the night seemed to press against him, both smothering and energizing, during those last few minutes of twilight. He could feel the seconds ticking away at his spark.

Jazz stirred from his recharge only a second before Cybertron's sun slipped its last rays beneath the horizon. There would be no half form tonight as they waited for the second unseen moon to rise. Tonight the moons were not going to rise. They eyed each other again. Neither bristled at each other. Redline didn't feel like starting the inevitable fight before it was needed and the other just looked tired.

Usually Redline allowed the night to change his form at it's own pace, but tonight he rushed the transformation, not wanting to be in a vulnerable shifting form when the other attacked.

Optic-blind their car-forms may be, but they regarded each other. Then, just as the grey car snarled his rage, Redline charged.

_If your enemy will never cease and will never tire, the only effective defense is attack. _A hard lesson to learn, but one Redline had mastered.

They slammed into each other, and Redline sunk low on his tires so that the other car was forced up over his hood by the impact. He continued his charge, slamming Jazz into the wall. He backed away from the stunned and damaged car.

They circled each other; Jazz growling in insane rage, Redline eerily silent. He'd done some damage to the grey car's undercarriage - possibly even to the precious axels - and taken only cosmetic damage on his hood.

Jazz charged again. This time instead of meeting him, Redline whipped around him and backed up hard to slam into his rear, crashing his cellmate into the wall again. With a heightening growl, Jazz pushed back. Redline growled this time - more with the effort of resisting the grey car's push than with any sort of emotion. Their tires smoked, leaving streaks on the floor.

The smaller car's engine gave out first. Jazz went smashing into the wall again.

But he was beyond thought, insane in his induced rage, and so he spun to face his faded red cellmate again. This time Redline met his charge as he had the first time, managing to flip the grey car rather than slamming him into the wall.

Jazz's wheels spun and his engine shrieked in helplessness and fury. Redline backed off a bit, waiting to see if Jazz could flip himself back over, or if he was stuck in that position for the night.

But Jazz's tires just spun helplessly, so Redline settled in to warily wait out the night of the dark moons.

888

Sunrise announced itself as a flurry of transforming parts, releasing both back to their mech forms. Jazz fell into a heap of transforming parts until he gazed up at Redline standing above him in disbelief. "Yo're alive."

His optics shut off as he off lined from his injuries before Redline could respond. Shaking his head, the red were-car waited for the keepers to come around to treat any injuries that had been sustained during the forced change.

888

He was woken from his recharge - on Jazz's pile of rags - by the keeper's drone shoving his cellmate back into the cell with him. In an eerie reversal of the previous day, they stared at each other, though this time neither bristled.

Then warily, Jazz slunk to the corner opposite Redline and settled down without demanding that the red were-car give his rags back.

When energon was delivered, Jazz waited for Redline to finish his share before coming out of the corner to claim his cube. And when he did, he crept over to the energon, wary gaze on Redline, as though expecting to be chased off. He downed the cube quickly, then hurried back to his corner, as far from Redline as the cell would allow him to get.

This went on for several days. They didn't speak and interacted as little as possible. Jazz never ceased his wariness, acting in all things like he expected Redline to attack him or bully him at any moment. For the most part, Redline ignored him, occupying his processor with reviewing everything he'd been able to find out about the arena complex. Habits of another lifetime - he was never going to be able to use his skills to escape; the keepers watched the true criminals too carefully to give them the chance. But it kept him from going processor-glitched insane during the tedium between matches...

Jazz couldn't stay warm during recharge.

Not his problem, Redline tried to tell himself every night when he watched the other mech drop off into recharge with his armor plates clamped as closely around his frame as he could manage, for warmth. If Jazz asked, he'd share the rags - maybe he'd even manage to convince a drone to get them some more - but if Jazz was going to act like a timid mecha-critter all the time, it wasn't Redline's problem. And it wasn't like Jazz would care at all about Redline if their positions were reversed.

Finally after the fifth night he watched Jazz clamp his armor around himself, and finally failing to convince himself it wasn't his problem, he gathered the rags up and walked over to Jazz's corner. The grey mech cowered away from him. Redline scoffed in his own processor. Like he was going to attack the other mech while carrying an armful of metal-mesh rags. What could he do? Throw them?

"Here," he dumped the scraps onto the other mech. "I'm more comfortable recharging in car form."

Redline ignored Jazz's astonished gaze as he transformed and parked himself in his corner to recharge.

888

"Together."

"T'gether."

Redline shook his head and corrected Jazz, "To-gether."

"Toogether."

The red mech chuckled a bit. "Almost. Try again."

"Together."

"That's right." Months later Redline and Jazz were still cellmates. They'd gotten used to each other. Jazz was no longer so certain that Redline was going to rip his wires out for any sort of offense and so no longer cowered in the corner. Along with his courage, he'd slowly revealed a sense of humor and an intelligence that often had Redline scrambling to keep up. He'd simply never been taught anything except how to fight in the ring.

He couldn't quite remember how he'd gotten conned into teaching Jazz how to lessen his gladiator's accent, but he had. Sometimes it was frustrating enough to make him want to bang his head against the wall - the grey mech just couldn't seem to remember that "to" and "t'" were not the same sounds - but it passed the time with something other than hopeless escape plans."

"Now say, 'together we will go to the sword rack'."

"Together we'll go t' th' swor' rac'."

Redline shook his head. At least this time he'd remember to pronounce "together" correctly. "Swor-duh."

"Swor. Duh."

The grey mech looked so pleased with himself that Redline just shook his head again. "Why don't we do something else for a while." It wasn't a question.

Jazz tilted his head. "Game?"

Sure. It wasn't like they had anything else to do. Redline brushed the mesh rags off of the mathematical etchings he'd painstakingly scratched into the ground with a couple shards to glass from the energon cubes they always broke during their monthly scuffles. Jazz's insanity was just as fierce as it ever had been, but Redline was getting very adept at flipping the other car so that Jazz's fury was spent by uselessly spinning his wheels in the air all night.

In fact, he was getting so good at that maneuver that the keepers had stopped pairing Redline with other cars during matches entirely - it wasn't exactly entertaining when it took about three minutes for him to flip the other car then set to ripping out his opponent's internals.

After a moment of deliberation, Redline put five shards of glass in an open spot in the mathematical equation, and Jazz put five shards on the opposite side of the equals sign. Then Jazz put three shards in another open spot in the equation. After just a moment of contemplation, Redline increased the number of shards behind the equals sign to fifteen. The object of the game was simple: without using either negative or imaginary numbers, try and make the equation one your opponent couldn't solve. The hard part came in that the functions had been predetermined when Redline had managed to carve these into the floor, and so eventually they got a sense of what was and was not possible and so could block each other from making an unsolvable equation.

Redline was better at it than Jazz - the other mech seemed more intuitive than mathematical - but not so much better that the game was unfair.

They were about halfway through the etched functions - Jazz was winning this time - when they heard the door to their cellblock hiss open. Hurriedly they shoved Jazz's rags back on top of the game to hide it. The keeper may not be coming to their cell, but if he was, they didn't want their game discovered. It wasn't allowed and they'd be punished if it was found. And since they hadn't repaired Jazz yet, it was very likely they were coming to fix him.

The keeper and his assistant drone did stop in front of Jazz and Redline's cell. The keeper held the false-helm that meant one of them was going into the ring. Redline stood, the mantle of the killer already settling on his plating.

But the keeper only shook his head. "No. Him." He gestured to Jazz as the energy bars were deactivated.

Redline stalled in surprise. Jazz was _injured_. Last night when Redline had flipped him to spend the night helpless on his back, they'd been too close to the wall and Jazz had clipped it as he was flipped. When they'd transformed back in the morning, Jazz's left leg had been nearly useless. Nevertheless, Jazz struggled to his feet and stepped toward the keeper to be led to the ring.

A death sentence, Redline knew. Rage, white, hot and burning, flared in the red were-car, then was replaced with the killer's glacial coldness. With a snarl, Redline leaped at the keeper - he wasn't going to let them take Jazz to his death. His claws bit deep into the keeper's armor and he ripped the plate free exposing his internals before the drone grabbed him. He managed to grab a hydraulic line as he was being torn off the keeper and the mech's hydraulic fluid sprayed down the corridor. The keeper stumbled away. Redline turned on the drone.

The drone was large and designed to be able to subdue everything from the wiry speed of were-motorcycles to the sheer size and strength of a were-tank. But Redline was the _Vicious Defender_ and for all that he'd been sentenced to the arena for theft, he had a killer's spark. In the time it took the keeper to stem the bleeding of hydraulic fluid and stand again, Redline had shredded his way to the drone's power source and was in the process of ripping it out when the keeper's shock-staff hit him in the side hard enough to send him thudding against the back wall of the cell. Redline transformed into vehicle-form, then out of it, getting his feet under him in the process and leaped for the keeper again.

And slammed into the activated energy-bars, paint scorching. He snarled in pain.

Unlike other gladiators, who might have thrown themselves again at the bars in an effort to get at the keeper, Redline simply glared out at him with cold killer's optics.

It was the keeper who looked away. "You're lucky you're so popular."

He was. Since he'd taken to flipping his car opponents, they'd started pairing him against tanks and jets and the crowd always did like seeing an uneven match-up end unexpectedly. He was too valuable to punish too severely right now.

The keeper left.

It took several minutes before Redline felt calm enough to face Jazz.

They looked at each other. "The're gonna punish y' f'r tha'."

Cold certainty settled around Redline's spark. "Let them." Jazz's life was worth it.

Neither gladiator said the word aloud, but they felt it latch onto their sparks anyway. _Partner._ Maybe it would be prudent to start planning for an escape...

_._

**End: Vicious Defender**


	12. Partner: To Search in Stealth

overall warnings: oddness and supernatural implications

further warnings for this story: non-graphic slash

.

**Were-Cars Diptych Six: Partner**

**Story Two: To Search in Stealth**

.

Prowl gazed at the destruction of Praxis. Spires of debris reached to the sky. Around him, the Autobots dug through the wreckage. Occasionally they found a survivor, but too often they found only dull, lifeless shells. Prowl directed their efforts, his processor effortlessly calculating where debris had fallen in ways that there was a chance a survivor had whether the destruction intact, and where they would find only corpses.

His logic simulator provided him with other information as well. He walked by a destroyed building and instantly had the directions, the speeds, and the models of the weapons of the were-jets that had destroyed it - including that one of the jets had tampered with the power capacitor to increase the power of his pulse cannon. Dangerous that, especially for a were-jet. Tampering with a power capacitor increased the chance of the weapon overloading by thirty-eight percent in were-cars, and by fifty-three percent in were-jets. Another building's door was smashed in and he knew the mass of the tank that had assaulted it. He directed the searchers to the building the jets had taken down and told them not to bother with the one the tank had assaulted. There was a chance the were-jets hadn't penetrated into any basements the building may have, while the tank would have searched the building as he destroyed it.

He did not share his comrades' elation when a single battered survivor with a severely stressed cooling system was pulled out of the intact basement he'd predicted was there. Nor did he share in their sorrow when the corpse of the survivor's bondmate was pulled out. She'd died of energy deprivation. The medics were reporting no such thing wrong with the survivor - seventy-three percent chance the femme had given her bondmate her energy via their secondary networking cords.

They moved on.

As the hours wore on, they ceased pulling live mechs from the wreckage entirely, more and more having died of energy deprivation rather than injuries. Prowl called a halt. Many of the Autobots protested, but most were of his Track and backed down without further prompting. Thirty-three percent chance that those not part of his Track would sneak back to search the rubble without orders.

Illogical. But there was also very little Prowl could logically do to stop them from doing so.

He went to the medics to get their reports on the survivors and what supplies they would need to repair them. After that he was going to Supply to ensure Medical had those supplies.

That night everything he _should_ have felt came crashing onto him all at once. Why? Why? _Why?_ There was no shielding himself from the question this time.

His spark answered only with sorrow and rage.

No one dared investigate the crashes and shrieks coming from Prowl's temporary quarters.

The next day, the Autobots resumed the search, this time with the knowledge that they would only be finding sparkless shells. Prowl once again stalked the ruins, flat emotionless optics taking in the piles of debris and directing their forces in the recovery and keeping everyone away from ruins too unstable to search.

He felt nothing. Nothing as they pulled yet another corpse from where it had been buried. Nothing as the priest sent the spark to the Well of All Sparks. Nothing as he looked in the darkened optics. Nothing as he ordered it join the other bodies in Supply, to be taken apart and salvaged for the living. Only the spark chambers of these mechs would be interred. They needed the parts. These dead mechs did not.

Logical.

The others muttered, but there was no arguing with Prowl's cold assessment.

Grumblings grew louder over the course of the day, as mechs tired of obeying Prowl's dictates of logic. His Track grumbled, but subsided when faced with the flat threat of their First's gaze and the flick of a sensor panel. Other Autobots were not so easily silenced. They grumbled but until they refused an order there was nothing he could do.

They obeyed, that day. The chance that mechs would start protesting more than vocally would go up to sixty percent tomorrow.

Prowl could not feel dread any more than he could feel anything else while his logic simulator was running, but he knew what would be coming. His logic could analyze emotion as he could anything else, especially in mechs he knew. And he knew himself better than he knew anyone else. He knew what he'd be feeling as soon as he switched the logic simulator off. If nothing else, he had the memory of the previous night to extrapolate from. He hesitated, taking refuge in emotionless logic for as long as he could.

"You can't keep it on forever." Prowl didn't even turn. He was incapable of true surprise and the fist vibration of the mech's voice had told him there was no threat here. He took a moment to calculate how Jazz could have gotten here, and how he could have gotten into the Autobots' camp unnoticed, but then deliberately put it aside as a useless calculation. Jazz defied logic in all ways, coming and going according to no laws except his own. Prowl had learned to expect him to be there, even when there was every reason to believe he would be somewhere else. Even when he thought he knew exactly where he actually was.

"I know." After exactly twelve hours, seventeen minutes, three minutes, and fourteen milliseconds, the logic simulator would crash his processor and put him in the care of the medics. "At most I can run the logic simulator for another two hours and three minutes."

Jazz hissed. Prowl felt his energy field come within Prowl's sensing range, but could not hear the silver mech approach. He turned and flicked his sensor panels up. He was incapable of mercy, of understanding that such things were not necessary with Jazz, who understood this and easily tilted his head. Minimal submission, but enough to satisfy the cold logic that would tolerate no insubordination from a member of his Track, no matter how unorthodox a member he was.

Ritual over, Jazz stepped forward again. "You're going t' turn it if off now?"

"I was contemplating the merits of doing so when you interrupted."

A rueful chuckle. "Don't blame you for hesitating. Heard about the tantrum you threw last night - it's all over camp."

"I had figured it would be." Numbers and calculations flittered through he processor as he was momentarily distracted by the probabilities of who was talking to whom about his "tantrum".

Jazz took another step forward. "C'mon Prowl. You and I both know its time t' come back t' us."

"I know." Still he hesitated. Jazz stood very close to him now; closer than Prowl would let any other were-car stand in such a vulnerable moment. Even Sunstreaker would be driven away from him right now, and Sunstreaker did not submit, ever. There might be a fight, which even Prowl's logic simulator could not guarentee him a victory, if Sunstreaker tried being this familiar with his First. Not so with Jazz.

Fearlessly Jazz wrapped his arms around Prowl, and even the cold, untrusting logic let him. The smaller were-car was too short to lean up and whisper into Prowl's audio, but the intimacy was there. "You know I won't let you fall."

"I know," and with that Prowl knelt to bring himself down to below Jazz's height. It was his last act before he surrendered to the storm of emotions he hadn't felt when digging out bodies.

Disgust was met with assurances that he'd made the right choice. Rage was met with shared rage. Sorrow met with shared sorrow. Grief with shared grief. Curses with soothing words and sobs with support. Despair with promises of justice - justice the two of them would bring against Megatron, alone if they had to, but they weren't alone. And that all encompassing, damning question of why, why, why, was met only with crooning comfort and the sorrowful assurance that life was not fair, not logical, and would that he could make the world follow Prowl's ideals, Jazz was certain the entire world would be better for it, but that was not life, was not the will of Primus and so they lived on a flawed world.

And finally, long in the night, when Prowl's storm of emotion finally, finally, focused on the mech holding him with lust and a desire to forget, if only for a single shining moment of joy, was met with _love._

After a frantic stimulation of their bodies and their energy fields - Jazz was sensitive to audial stimulus, Prowl to Jazz's wonderful magnetics - they connected their networking cables into each other's receiving ports. Jazz, generous Jazz, gave him that moment of joy and more. He gave Prowl the simple pleasure of the interface, and the more complex pleasure of understanding. The storm subsided.

And so Prowl turned to the shadows in his partner's spark. At first Jazz shied away, shielding him from the sights, the sounds, the deeds, the choices he was faced with in Decepticon territory. _Tonight is for you, Prowl_.

Generous Jazz, his beautiful _Dancer._ Prowl sighed certainty into their connection. _I will not take without giving._

And so, like the growth of crystals in the mineral rich acid puddles left after a rainstorm, Jazz let him examine all that he was.

Jazz's nightmares were met with comfort. What he saw in Decepticon territory, Prowl could only hold him and croon comfort to him. Each choice, each failure, was examined, judged and Jazz knew with Prowl's certainty that he too had made the right choices. And the lingering pain of Redline's death that would never completely fade, Prowl only held in his spark as closely as Jazz did, a shared burden.

The word went unsaid between them, a shared thought that twisted and twinned around itself over their connected processors. Silent, for there were those who levied the accusation of treason against anyone who spoke Kaonex, never mind that this word had been one never used by the Decepticons: _Partner._

_._

**End: To Search In Stealth**

**End: Diptych Six**


	13. Divisions: Building Walls

overall warnings: oddness and supernatural implications

further warnings for this story: none

.

**Were-Cars Diptych Seven: Divisions**

**Story One: Building Walls**

**.**

Makeshift's records.

Prowl remembered requesting them from Praxis, but thought he wouldn't be able to receive them when he'd resigned from the Praxan police forces.

But now he held them in his hand. A bribe, Sentinel Prime had said, to get him to accept the position as head of security. "An experienced police mech, tactical programing, won't panic when faced with shapeshifter threats... that you're a carrier of the were-car virus is a minor consideration in comparison," had been the Prime's exact words. It had only been a week and already there had been rumblings of trouble in Kaon that Prime believed were connected to the encounter with Melanthios. He had no *logical* reason to believe it, but he was prioritizing the ability to face down a were in its vehicle form above such a historically major defect as *being* a shapeshifter anyway.

Prime also wanted to garner power among what shapeshifters he could while the rumblings were still only rumblings. Starting with Prowl's track. He hadn't said so, but Prowl had not been sparked yesterday and could see Prime's political maneuvering as easily as the mech's color. So Prowl hesitated to open the files. Doing so would symbolize in his own processor the decision to accept the obligation to the Prime in return.

No. He wasn't yet willing to commit himself, commit his Track, to the Prime's goals. He placed the data pad down on a table in his room. He was not going to read that until he'd made his decision.

He looked around the room. It had formerly been Redline and Jazz's room. Redline's things, which his three roommates had helped sort from Jazz's, had been carefully packed up and stored. Jazz's... Prowl hadn't been able to bring himself to pack them up. Jazz was still alive after all, and may return.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker thought that unlikely. They believed that Jazz was going to kill Melanthios, and likely was going to kill himself in the process. They wished they could have followed and helped him, but he'd left them, disappearing without a trace and so they'd stayed here, in Iacon, to help Prowl keep the Track the sanctuary that Redline and Jazz had made it.

Still Prowl did not feel comfortable removing Jazz's things from the room. Instead he'd carefully removed every bit of the music paraphernalia to the side of the room Jazz's recharge plate was in and left it there. He'd switched off the recharge plate itself - there was no logic in leaving it on as long as the bed was not going to be used. Looking at the room now, Prowl noted the stark contrast between the side of the room that was now Prowl's and the side that he'd designated as the absent Jazz's. His side was neat and tidy, the bare walls and clean desk almost cringing at the sight of the poster covered walls and tidy piles of clutter on the other.

Prowl shook away that fanciful notion, and, leaving the datapad where it was, left the room.

Bluestreak and Sideswipe were waiting in the common room. Again Prowl's new presence had been carefully replacing the belongings of the previous First and Second. Redline's things had been packed up and placed with his things from the bedroom, and this time so had Jazz's, joining the piles of things in the recharge room.

The possibility - even hope - that Jazz would return was Prowl's personal weakness, and not to be displayed to the rest of the Track. Out here, only Prowl's personality - his power - was on display.

Currently that simply meant bare walls. Spiral, the commander of the shapeshifter division of the Praxan police department, had agreed to pack up Prowl's things from his quarters there. Perceptor was going to pick them up and bring them to Iacon during his next trip doing... whatever the scientist did in Praxis, Vos, and other city-states. Science things, Prowl had been told when he asked (though Perceptor had used longer words that even Prowl had not known the meaning of; the intern currently filling in for Skyfire while he dealt with his partner's abandonment had assured him that Perceptor's explanation could best be translated as "science things"), but he also suspected that the smaller tank was one of the primary communications lines the more territorial shapeshifters maintained to each other.

He'd certainly received a data pad full of scathing insults - insulting everything from his speed, to his fighting skills, to the appearance of his car-form - from Motormaster, delivered via Perceptor, only a few days after he'd won his bid for First.

That at least had gone smoothly. Sideswipe had been correct in saying that the Track was in too desperate need of an actual leader to mount too much an objection to a new were-car who hadn't transformed yet ascending to that position. Bluestreak still held the Second position, and would until the races determined otherwise. At least this Track was already used to the First's will being enforced by the enforcers rather than personally - Prowl could leave such things to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker until he learned the best ways to accomplish it himself.

With that thought in his processor, he brought his attention back to Sideswipe and Bluestreak. They'd waited patiently - more patiently than Prowl would have given Sideswipe credit for before when he'd been an outsider. Now he knew better. The red enforcer may not *like* waiting, but could wait forever if necessary.

Prowl hitched his sensor panels expectantly. By the rules of non-weres, when making this request, he should simply ask "what are you teaching me today?", and considering that dominance did not *need* to be reenforced among the three of them, he still could. But these teachings were about how to hold that dominance with were-cars who were not necessarily friends, and so he did not ask a question that would imply Sideswipe had any power over him. Instead he forced the other car to offer.

Sideswipe gave him a smirk. "Today I thought we could go out to the wild roads and try a dominance race, or twenty. Sunstreaker's gonna meet us there."

Prowl's optics dimmed a bit in thought. Sideswipe sounded very sure of himself there. He assumed much. Acceptable among friends, but not if they were still simulating interaction with a were-car who may one day challenge him. So instead of simply agreeing as he might have a few days ago, Prowl hitched his sensor panels higher. "Acceptable. I will join the three of you," an order _go on without me, and all three of you should be there when I get there_, "at the moon altar, after I have met with Nightbeat and Red Alert regarding Topgear and the motorcycles he got into a fight with last night."

Bluestreak lowered his own sensor panels to where they were nearly folded against his back, exposed his neck wires and his optics dimmed almost to off - full submission. It wasn't in Bluestreak's nature to be challenging, and he nearly always responded to a superior's dominance displays with a full submission. Sideswipe, however, did have a challenging nature, though not the ambition to follow through on those challenges, only tilted his head to barely give Prowl access to his neck wires, if he decided to assert that dominance. Otherwise he did not change his posture at all. Acknowledging a superior without giving up his own posturing.

If Prowl had had any reason that Sideswipe would eventually challenge him, that would have indicated that he needed to be watched closely, or dealt with immediately. But this was Sideswipe, who had only days ago backed Prowl in his bid for leadership - who had in fact *suggested* that Prowl take First *because* he and Sunstreaker weren't capable of leadership. This was Sideswipe being Sideswipe, nothing more.

Still...practice. Prowl flared his optics at Sideswipe in warning before stalking out of the room.

888

Red Alert had mellowed only a bit in regards to shapeshifters. Prowl hadn't been in power long enough to have put down any new edicts about interacting with the police. Technically Redline and Jazz's edicts had evaporated when Jazz had disappeared, but the attitude of a Track was determined very much by it's command element. The confusion in the Track and outside it meant the police were being called to deal with them more than they had since Redline and Jazz had taken power in Iacon, but all of them stood down when faced with a police ID.

Before his assignment in Iacon, Prowl had always thought that were-cars were universally violent in response to police authority. He'd thought they resented that non-were-cars were attempting to claim authority over their behavior. But no...a Track took it's cue from its command element. Motormaster and Crankcase were violent and resentful of the police, so even though Prowl had managed to hold a dominant position to them, the Praxis Track had also been violent and resentful. Redline and Jazz had been secretive and unruly, so the police had had trouble here with their Track as well, though not of the same sort as Prowl had dealt with in Praxis.

Prowl, resignation or not, was a police mech. His track cooperated, unconditionally.

Watching Red Alert glare hostilely at Wreck-Gar and Sideways, he thought that that had as much to do with Red Alert's changing attitude toward were-cars as a true change of spark.

"Your mechs," Red Alert finally snapped in a way that made Prowl's were-car instincts hum discontentedly. Were-cars usually growled, but Red Alert was addressing the two were-motorcycles, who were more subtle than were-cars, "admit to starting the fight, attacking Topgear six to one. Witnesses say that Topgear attempted to move the fight outside the bar before it started. Further," he raised his voice to be heard over the two protesting team leaders, "_your_ mechs are the ones being charged with assault on the responding officer and destruction of property. They will stay in jail until their hearings."

The two motorcycles tried protesting again, but Red Alert simply glared at them until they quieted. Prowl hoped that if he'd gone to the motorcycles for information or something else, he wouldn't have been so blatantly defying their politics - as Prowl himself had tried to teach the other officer during his time serving with him - but in this, the two motorcycles had come to him and so Red Alert could address them as he wished.

Sideways shot Prowl an absolutely *poisonous* look as he and Wreck-Gar left - presumably for being witness to the verbal defeat. Prowl returned it mildly, hitching his sensor panels a touch higher: reminding Sideways that the were-cars were the strongest group of weres in Iacon even with the chaos that had happened recently. And even if Prowl couldn't bring the strength of the entire Track against him if he tried anything - which Prowl would be able to, after winning his first challenge-race - he still had his own skills and the loyalty of the two enforcers to retaliate with.

Red Alert wasn't were savvy enough quite yet to have caught the exchange. Prowl wasn't sure he himself had been were savvy enough before becoming one to have caught that exchange.

For a moment, the officer and the former officer stared at each other. This wasn't the first time they'd encountered each Prowl had tested positive for the shapeshifter virus in the med center, but it was the first time that encounter had had anything to do with Iacon's Track.

"Fines?" Speaking first - dominance, but there were no other were-cars here, and Prowl finally truly understood how Motormaster felt when Prowl had asserted his authority on him, how Jazz must have felt pretending to be low-ranked because of his and Redline's own secrecy. But at the same time he didn't want to be uncooperative. There should be a balance between the two and Prowl felt he needed to try and find it.

Red Alert shook his head, seeming relieved for the conversation to turn to business. "No. Every witness says the the other six started it. Usually all the combatants are required to split the damages, but the owner is pressing charges against the other six, so paying that'll be part of the settlement. We might not have brought your mech," Red Alert's voice held some unidentifiable strain in it on those two words, "in if he hadn't been in car-form when the first officer arrived." Prowl started to say something, but Red Alert continued, "He transformed back as soon as Jolt arrived, but we still needed to bring him in."

Prowl nodded. "I cannot assure you that this will never happen again if other shapeshifters start the fights." He wasn't sure yet he could keep it from happening again if the were-cars were starting the fights. That would be determined by how well he held his own in a race.

The police mech deliberately stripped a gear to express his opinion of that. "I'll take you to him."

Prowl hadn't been to the holding cells while he worked here. It had been unnecessary as they'd never gotten a suspect in custody. Four of the cells were occupied; three had two mechs each - small motorcycle-sized ones, mostly femme-models - while the last had a single, more averagely sized mech. Topgear. He slouched against the back of his cell, his green paint only slightly discolored by the reddish shade of the force field. He looked up as Prowl and Red Alert entered the room, and slouched lower. Prowl hitched his sensor panels but the other were-car only glared back. Prowl hadn't been able to note every car that disagreed with his accession to First, but this was obviously one of them.

Prowl flared his optics and said mildly, "Red Alert *is* allowed to hold you for up to three days without charges." Threat - submit or I'll leave you there.

Topgear growled lowly, a sound Prowl felt with his sensor panels more than his audios, but did submit. He tried for the balance between submission and dominance that Sideswipe always walked, but he didn't have the attitude to pull it off. His enforcer was a dominant mech who chose to submit. Topgear was an ambitious mech who was being forced to submit.

He would have to be watched closely, as would others like him. Or it would be Barricade's rebellion all over again. Though, hopefully this one didn't have the prejudice that had finally led Barricade to throw in with Melanthios. Hopefully they had all left when Jazz had commanded that Barricade's supporters be exiled. But Prowl had no way of confirming that currently. When the track was more stable, he may be able to use the skills he once used as a police investigator to track down such individuals, but until then there was nothing to be done.

He nodded to Red Alert, who grumbled as he connected to the force field controls long enough to shut off the one to Topgear's cell.

"Hey!" one florescent blue were-motorcycle called out, "When do we get let out?"

"After your hearings," Red Alert snapped back. The six mechs heckled back. Prowl ignored them; he turned and led Topgear out of the room. He was going to simply leave the station, but Red Alert made the stripped-gear sound again, and Prowl looked back. "I'd like to talk to you."

Instead of responding directly, Prowl looked into Topgear's optics. "Wait for me outside."

Topgear nodded sullenly. Once he was out of sight, Prowl allowed Red Alert to lead him to his desk.

Red Alert seemed to be struggling with something. He didn't seem inclined to share with Prowl though. "Are you taking the job?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"Nightbeat worked his wires until they snapped pitching your merits to Prime."

"I know." For a moment Prowl thought about explaining all his reasons for hesitating to Red Alert. The immediate offer of a job had been one of the factors that had convinced Prowl to stay in Iacon and take the First position. He doubted he'd get another job soon if he didn't take Prime's offer, but still...

When Prowl hesitated in elaborating, Red Alert only _whooshed_ a gust of air out of his intakes. "I'm sure your reasons are logical. Try and keep your mechs out of trouble."

They said their farewells and Prowl left.

Topgear waited outside, slouching arrogance that, having faced down the real thing - Sunstreaker - Prowl couldn't believe the were-car was as battle-hardened as he was pretending to be. "Come with me."

Prowl led the way. As he did, he thought about how to deal with the situation. He even engaged his logic simulator long enough to consider the exact variables. There weren't many ways to do this. Perhaps if his position were more secure, he could do this without violence, but right now... he wrote the algorithm to take his were-car instincts and dominance responses as non-irrelevant variables and engaged his logic simulator.

When he was ninety-eight percent sure they were unobserved and ninty-nine point four percent sure there would be no place less observed unless he returned to his quarters or went to the wild roads, Prowl whirled, pushing Topgear against a nearby wall. With a better fighter than Topgear - his enforcers, Jazz, even Red Alert - Prowl would have had to slam him against the wall hard enough to jar circuits to make his point. Instead he very carefully used his strength and leverage to push him into the wall *just* hard enough to make the other mech *think* he'd been slammed.

Topgear cried out and struggled, but then looked into Prowl's flat, emotionless optics and his flared sensor panels and went quiet. Prowl could feel the hitch in the other mechs systems - eighty-six percent chance it was a fear response, twelve percent chance of it being anger, two percent chance of it being from any other emotion. Prowl held him there one minute, thirty-four seconds and seventeen milliseconds, then slowly, deliberately, engaged the partial transformation that would give him a shapeshifter's claws. _Threat_.

"Until the _Artemis' Bow_ reopens," if it did; there was a forty-seven percent chance that Orion Pax may choose not to return to running Iacon's neutral establishment, "do not go near any establishment the motorcycles are patronizing."

Topgear tried to growl, but Prowl only flared his optics, and the other mech shut off his vocalizer on the words, baring his neck and saying, "Of course, my First," instead.

Prowl didn't let him up until he'd run his bared claws along the exposed wires. "Go. I had a meeting scheduled when I came to retrieve you."

Topgear nearly scrambled away. Prowl shut down his logic simulator before it could attempt to calculate the likelihood of Topgear working up the courage to challenge his authority anytime soon. He didn't know the mech well enough and the attempt would probably crash the delicate programing.

It hadn't been on long enough for any real build up of emotions, so Prowl wasn't overwhelmed by any rush of them.

He headed for the moon altar to meet with Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, and Bluestreak.

888

Prowl was still not good at driving. On one level it was instinctive. On another it wasn't, so he took his time getting to the moon altar. It wouldn't be good to show up to his lesson already injured. The three were-cars were waiting for him, but were playing as they did so, chasing each other in circles. Bluestreak, who was in mech-form, spotted Prowl first.

"Prowl's here."

After one more shove of his bumper against Sideswipe's side, Sunstreaker pulled up to Prowl and transformed. Not for the first time, Prowl was glad to have gotten to know Sunstreaker a bit before becoming a were-car, and especially before becoming Track First.

Sunstreaker categorically did not submit. Like Sideswipe, he was a dominant were-car, with enough fighting and racing skill and experience to win any position he wanted, but no ambition to be anything but what he was. Unlike Sideswipe, he did not bare his wires to anybot. Prowl was only beginning to understand how Redline and Jazz had dealt with him - starting with the trust the four of them had won of each other escaping from Kaon.

Prowl ... well Prowl only had his own basically logical nature, the logic simulator, which allowed him to stay in control of his actions temporarily despite the urging of his instincts, and what little he knew of the twins to buffer his reactions. Else, experienced police mech who had more than once placed vicious were-cars in cuffs or not, he'd likely be torn apart by the yellow car.

So he shoved his instincts' insistence that he wasn't First until Sunstreaker submitted down. Having Sunstreaker as a subordinate was, Prowl sifted through his processor for an appropriate metaphor that would make sense to his logic, like leashing a plasma storm: the very fact that the storm *didn't* vaporize you was all the proof you would ever get that it was under control.

"You three were going to teach me how to race." Prowl made it a statement, not a question.

Sideswipe pulled up and stood behind his spark-twin. "Yeah. Sunstreaker's gonna teach you a bit about the initial challenge fight, then I'm gonna teach you how to counter some of the dirty tricks racers'll use during the race. Then you'll practice against all three of us, to give you a sense of countering everything that'll be thrown at you."

Prowl nodded. Right now was no time to play dominance games. Logically, one couldn't be both in control and a student. Bluestreak and Sideswipe backed away, out of the rough circle of spire-like debris that was all there was to the Iacon Track's moon altar - another remnant of Jazz and Redline's secrecy. One Prowl hadn't decided if he was going to change or not; it may not be a bad thing for the were-cars' gathering place to be unobtrusive, even if the secrecy edicts were no longer in effect.

Sunstreaker's growl brought him out of his reverie. "There are, technically, four levels of transformation, though most only recognize three." Prowl nodded, he already knew this from his work with shapeshifters in Praxis, but let the yellow were-car continue. "The first is where all were-traits are hidden, except claws, if your spark was created with the virus," he gestured to his and Prowl's current forms. Sunstreaker had been sparked a were-car and had claws; Prowl did not. "The second is where the were is showing some traits, and may or may not have claws. This is the preferred form for the command element in most tracks because it makes full transformations easier and facing minor challenges go more smoothly." Sunstreaker demonstrated, smooth mech armor sliding apart to reveal tires, his chestplate splitting and rotating to reveal his headlights, and other more exotic minor changes. He was still recognizably Sunstreaker. "The third is what is forced by the first moon and the form challenges begin in." Again he changed, taking on a even more car-like appearance, claws lengthening, and posture hunching over a bit. This was the form he'd never encountered personally during his work as a police mech; the first time he'd seen it was when he'd witnessed the fight between Jazz and Barricade. "The fourth is vehicle form. In it, you trade mobility for speed. Despite most weres being less lethal in their vehicle forms than any other, this is the only form all non-were's are programmed to fear. It is also only when coming out of vehicle form that a were is contagious."

Again all information Prowl had, except the bit about the second level making it easier to transform into the two more car-like forms. He filed that information away. He also noted that Sunstreaker was showing more patience in explaining than Prowl had thought he had. Tentatively, Prowl triggered his own transformations and slid into the half-form to match Sunstreaker. It was slightly awkward. He'd never been in this form before and it didn't work the same as his fully mech form.

The yellow were-car nodded his approval. "Fighting starts as soon as the moon forces you into this form. Usually only the Second and Third fight like this, but since Bluestreak is going to submit to whoever wants those positions, you may have to. Once everything's back to normal you'll only race the second." Sunstreaker started circling and Prowl matched him. "The point of this fight is to gain some sort of advantage during the upcoming race. Ripping tires, cracking axels, or even just forcing your opponent into a position so that when the second moon rises he ends up on his back... it's up to you. Serious injuries are not necessary, though some opponents may attempt them." Prowl nodded again that he understood. "Some fighters heckle each other, but it's not needed."

Prowl stayed silent as they circled each other. Sunstreaker quirked a vicious smile and lunged.

The black and white tied to roll to the side, but was not fast enough to dodge the yellow were-car. After only a moment's struggle, Prowl was pinned. Sunstreaker let him up and they circled again.

After several more times getting his aft landed in the dirt, or Sideswipe calling halt because Sunstreaker had his tire or axel, or other vital component. Sunstreaker backed away, growling. "What's *wrong* with you? You didn't move this slowly when facing Brawl. And you held your own against *three* were-cars the night Barricade tagged you."

"I had a police blaster then."

Sunstreaker growled louder. Sideswipe stepped forward, into the circle, motioning for his twin to stay calm. "He's right though. Blaster doesn't affect your reflexes. What else is different?"

I was running my logic simulator then, Prowl thought. He usually only ran it during combat if a fraction of an angle could mean life, death, or infection - earlier with Topgear being the exception. He hadn't been thinking of the challenge fight as being a matter of life of death, but Barricade's rebellion had proven that it could be. He wrote the algorithm to keep himself in this form, set the win conditions Sunstreaker had outlined, then switched it on.

Immediately his awkwardness was gone. The logic simulator did not have the prejudices his default processor settings did about how his body worked. The twins immediately recognized the change and Sideswipe backed away. Sunstreaker began circling again.

This time Prowl fared much better. His reaction times were calculated down to the nanosecond and his and Sunstreaker's movements tracked in angles, velocity, and probable scenarios. Sunsreaker still pinned him a few times - his time as a gladiator still gave him an advantage - but this time Prowl returned the favor with Sideswipe calling several bouts when Prowl managed a shot that would have disabled his opponent's car-form if Prowl had followed through with it.

Of course Prowl noticed that Sunstreaker increased the speed of the combat by seven percent each time Prowl won a bout, but compared to Prowl's ability to calculate the movement, strike, and reaction as soon as Sunstreaker began it ... the speed of a strike was irrelevant when the target wasn't there when it hit.

Finally when Sunstreaker had sped his fighting pace to seventy percent faster than his first bout and this one had gone on for three minutes, seventeen seconds, and eighty-three milliseconds, Sideswipe called a halt without a winner. "That'll do. Moon won't take longer than that to rise. Onto racing." Sideswipe took Sunstreaker's place next to Prowl. "Shut whatever that is off so you can listen."

Prowl considered the emotional build up, then decided that releasing that excitement before accumulating more was thirty percent better than otherwise. He disengaged his logic simulator. The other three were-cars watched curiously as Prowl's sensor panels immediately started quivering. He kept control over himself, but to them, he knew his systems were running more like a mech in battle than they had while he *was* in battle. They may not have known exactly what was going on, but they waited until he settled down. With only a look at his twin, Sideswipe shrugged and moved on. "Challenge races are not clean races, and every mech races differently, so..." Sideswipe settled in to describe every maneuver - legal, borderline legal, and illegal - that he'd ever seen in a challenge race. It took hours. Occasionally Sideswipe would crouch to draw out a maneuver, and how to counter, avoid, or recover from it, in the dirt for Prowl.

He filed all the information away.

"Ready to practice?" Sideswipe finally asked. Prowl nodded. He wrote in a new set limitations and win conditions for his logic simulator to abide by and engaged it. "We'll go to that set of pipes sticking out of the ground and back. You'll race Bluestreak first."

Prowl nodded as Bluestreak entered the circle, and they both transformed into vehicle forms. Like with his half-form, Prowl's logic simulator lacked the difficulties his base settings did with his car-form.

Bluestreak was all speed. He kicked into overdrive and didn't slow down until they were back in the circle. He was more likely to spin Prowl out of control by making a mistake in compensating for the terrain and accidentally hitting his opponent than by any sort of design. Prowl was faster, and quickly learned to avoid Bluestreak's mistakes. Sunstreaker wasn't as fast as either of them, but was vicious and took every chance he got to smash into Prowl and try sending him off the road and into a spin out. Prowl avoided most of the crashes the same way he'd avoided most of Sunstreaker's combat strikes. Those he couldn't avoid... the logic simulator calculated the best course of action faster than either of them could move - dodge, shove back, recover, even drop back for a moment so that the maneuver would send Sunstreaker temporarily out of control. It took several races before Prowl could win consistently, but in the end, Sunstreaker wasn't too much to handle. Even if there was a seventy-nine percent the mech wasn't racing to the best of his capabilities so as not to injure Prowl.

Sideswipe... was clever. Dirty tricks, shoving, rock kicking, bullying him out of the best position, pulling in front of Prowl and messing up the road. Sideswipe was the hardest for Prowl to calculate. He demonstrated every trick he'd explained earlier and more, pulling them on each lap until Prowl countered it, then pulling another on the next lap. Once Prowl started pulling the tricks back, he started winning, but even then, Sideswipe won the practice race fifty-three percent of the time

It was Sideswipe who called the halt to the practice races. Prowl sat there in his car-form considering what advantage he could gain over an opponent like Sideswipe in the short time he had before the challenge races. They let him sit there, returning to their chase game until he was ready to move on. Except Bluestreak, who after a few moments called out, "Come on Prowl. You're not the only mech who runs a bit hot after the races. What do you think play-driving is *for*?"

An excellent point. He turned off his logic simulator, but instead of holding himself in control and riding out the combat emotions, he let his humming systems lure him into joining the game.

Later they were all utterly exhausted and in need of some energon. Car-form, Prowl had noticed, used less energy than mech-form, but they still needed to fuel up. Fortunately, either one of the twins or Bluestreak had foreseen this and stashed a quartet of energon cubes nearby. While they fueled, Prowl brought up the factor his logic simulator had come up with to give him an edge in the upcoming challenges. "Are the challenge courses the same every moon?"

"Yeah," Sideswipe answered, "they don't change, unless something happens to make us change them."

"And is there any rule against my memorizing the courses?"

Sideswipe grinned. "No. And since no one in our Track except Redline, Jazz and Barricade have been on them before... eventually that won't work, 'cause your opponents'll know it as well as you do, or the routes'll change, but for now, that'll work."

Prowl finished his energon and stood. "Show me."

888

News came two days later. Perceptor had made another trip to Praxis and come back with Prowls things Spiral had gathered up, as well as news.

Motormaster and his inner circle, the Stunts, had abandoned Praxis, headed, rumor said, to Kaon, to follow a were-jet by the name of Megatron. The Praxis Track was in chaos and Crankcase was likely going to be left in charge of the Track. The Aerials - the five-strong flight of were-jets that called Praxis home - were buzzing around confused at the disappearance of their old adversaries. Spiral, through Perceptor, had passed the message that it seemed like they were on the verge of abandoning Praxis too.

To follow the Stunts to Kaon, as either enemies, or allies? Prowl hoped not.

Prowl thought. Perceptor had also said that Skyfire had applied for, and received, permission for an off-planet study excursion. "Away," Perceptor had said, "from any shapeshifter. He's grieving losing Starscream, and I can't blame him the desire to just get away."

Prowl tapped the side of the box he had yet to unpack. All these things were disturbing. What was more disturbing was that he felt the need to attempt to stabilize the situation. In the normal course of things, Prowl, as a were-car, should not have any concern over the either antics of the Track, or the trials of the were-jets, of another territory.

But Megatron - who fit the description of the silver were-jet that had killed Redline, tentatively identified as Melanthios - was making things distinctly un-normal. And if he was bringing every like-minded shapeshifter under his banner in Kaon, for his admitted goal of conquest and subjugation of non-shapeshifters, then someone would have to bring those shapeshifters that were not of that mind under a single banner allied with non-shapeshifters, or else get caught in the middle and killed by both sides.

Prowl did not want to be that someone, he was a police mech, not a leader - not of civilizations, not of armies. But he knew of no one else that could convince the Aerials not to go to Kaon, who could negotiate with Crankcase, who could approach a shapeshifter not of his own type as easily as one of his own Track.

He still had Silverbolt's messaging address. He could send an invitation to the Aerials to come and take Skyfire's territory now that he'd abandoned it. They'd likely come. Prowl was something familiar to them, and their behavior indicated that they needed that right now. Once they were here, he could work on forging some sort of formal alliance ... He tapped the box one last time, then let his optics wander around the room, looking blankly at the piles of Jazz's things, before landing on the data pad the Prime had given him.

No... Prowl wasn't a leader, not on that scale, but Prime was.

fini.

.

**End Building Walls**


	14. Divisions: Mending Bridges

overall warnings: oddness and supernatural implications

further warnings for this chapter: none

.

**Were-Cars Diptych Seven: Divisions**

**Story Two: Mending Bridges**

.

Having landed outside Portland, Oregon - the closest he could reasonably land while ensuring he was well out of whatever territory Prime's Track had claimed - Prowl had a problem.

The Decepticons... Prowl's optics roamed over Swindle, Dragstrip, Dead End and Cirrus. Many of the Decepticons that had been Decepticons because they had believed in Megatron's promises, or because he'd been their way to get out of the gladiator pits of Kaon, were surrendering with the news of Megatron's death. Combined with the stray Autobots Prowl's Track had picked up - Hound and Mirage - and his original five mech Track, Prowl was landing with a nearly full-sized Track. A Track that wouldn't entirely accept Prime as First just because that was the way the Autobot shapeshifters had arranged it when Optimus had become infected.

But there also weren't enough were-cars on Earth to logically justify taking up two territories and asking their human allies to supply two bases for them.

Not that Prowl wanted to. Jazz ... well, before taking their war off of Cybertron, Jazz hadn't held any sort of official rank in a Track since he'd left Iacon before the war. He was the only Autobot that had gotten himself all the Decepticon modifications that allowed him to move in and out of another Track's territory freely. Combined with his skill as an infiltrator and information gatherer, Jazz had spent much time outside the official Track structure, holding a military rank, but unable to take his place in his Track. It had been pure chance that he'd been available to be assigned to Prime's team. Keeping his own Track separate would mean remaining in a Track that did not include Jazz.

No. It was logical to attempt to combine the two Tracks. What was not logical, because of the members of Prowl's Track that would not accept it, was Prime remaining Track First only because he was Prime. If he could win it... what would be entirely different, but unless Prime's Terran vehicle form was significantly faster than his Cybertonian one had been, then all but the slowest of Prowl's Decepticon defectors were able to out-race Prime, as were most of the Autobots. Maybe not out-fight, and if Prime actually broke a few axels before the race began as Sunstreaker had taught Prowl to do... but unlikely. Prime had been handed First because he was Prime. He'd never truly had to fight for his rank, and Prowl doubted that Orion Pax had changed so much as to fight all-out against another car in a "mere" dominance challenge.

Which meant Prowl had to have a plan *before* he contacted Prime.

888

Practically as one, Prowl's Track all stiffened and looked to the east of their little camp outside of Portland where they'd touched down. They'd received a signal - a Decepticon signal, but bearing a message older than the Decepticons. _I've lost my Track, permission to enter yours..._

The Track all looked at Prowl. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, still some of the toughest, meanest were-cars Prowl had ever encountered and still his enforcers, bristled. They recognized the signal as well as Prowl had. The others could only sense that it was a Decepticon, and Prowl knew that he had to deal with carefully. Make the wrong decision and the twins would rebel, make a different, wrong decision and the former Decepticons, including his Third, would.

He couldn't afford to let his own emotions interfere with his decisions. As he had so often when faced with command decision or dominance fight over the last sixteen thousand Terran years, Prowl activated his logic simulator.

His Track immediately recognized the change in him. Experience had given Prowl the ability to race and fight and negotiate without it, but with it ... even Breakdown backed down from him without question. Like this, Prowl could kill. He'd feel horrible about it later, as his enforcers, as Jazz, knew well, but there would be no hesitation in doing the act.

That logic also made him capable of mercy. Like this, he would kill when he would otherwise hesitate, and stay his hand when otherwise he would claw someone to shreds.

And so it was that cold, clipped logic that answered Barricade's signal. _Come forth, lost one, and state you case for my consideration._

888

It was a crude moon altar they gathered at that night - just a circle that had been cleared of plant life.

Prowl saw Barricade hesitate for one point seven seconds when he entered the circle of were-cars and saw just who he would be stating his case to. But he'd called out to him and come into the territory - however temporary Prowl's claim on this city was going to be - of another Track. Turning and running now would be *permission* for Sunstreaker and Sideswipe to chase him down and shred him. And the Decepticon Track members would not object to it.

It would be the easiest solution to this dilemma, and for that one point seven seconds, Prowl calculated that there was a nineteen percent chance that that was what would happen, but no. Barricade slowly rolled into the circle of were-cars and transformed. Unlike ever other car in the circle, who kept some of their were-car traits to make it easier to transform and fight as centuries of war had taught them, he went entirely into his mech-form. Giving them the advantage.

Prowl saw approval in several of his Track's optics. There was none in his, he knew. He wasn't capable of approval right now. "State your case Barricade."

Barricade growled lowly at being addressed such, but did not protest. "Megatron is dead. His cause died long before he did, but our choices had been made by then."

"They had."

"I have what I wanted. But I have no Track."

Prowl calculated probabilities. "Your bid is accepted. With," he raised his voice as his two enforcers started to grumble discontentedly, "the following conditions. So long as I am Track First, you will never compete in the races for the First, Second, or Third positions. So long as I am Track First, you will never leave our Track's territory for any reason without my explicit permission. Do you agree to these."

Barricade growled and bristled, but it was Swindle who protested. "Just because he's a Decepticon?"

"No." Prowl did not take his optics off of Barricade. "None of you are under similar conditions," Breakdown was the Track's current Third, after all. "This is because he is a proven traitor to Track and _Trine_," Prowl used the Decepticon word for _Trine_, which had come to imply that he was one of Megatron's favored. "He tore apart the Track I inherited with his ambitions once. As long as I am in a position to prevent it, he will not do so again." The Decepticons settled down. "Do you agree to those conditions, Barricade? Or will you remain without a Track?"

Barricade growled, but as long as Prowl had the support of all ten members of the Track, there was nothing he could do to negotiate for a lighter set of conditions. "I accept, my First."

To his credit, Barricade submitted without Prowl asking. Prowl stepped forward and clawed roughly - but precisely so there was no damage - as Barricade's wires. When Prowl was done, he slinking into the place in the circle for the lowest ranked car. For a moment it looked a bit like Dead End would fight him for the position of lowest - Prowl had always calculated that there was a seventy-three percent chance Dead End was glitched, preferring the lowest spot in any official hierarchy - but then the purple were-car stepped aside, leaving the question of exactly which one of them was the lowest until the next time they gathered for rank-challenges.

"Tonight I address the Track as its First," Prowl's voice rank out, hushing the rustling of the were-cars who thought that the issue of Barricade was the only one Prowl wished to bring up tonight. They settled back in to listen. "Tomorrow I will begin negotiations with Prime's Track to the south of us to merge our Tracks. There are not enough of us to claim separate territories and all of us will suffer if we try." Prowl still had not shut off his logic simulator, but he had prepared most of this speech in advance, else he would have gone into his exact calculations of exactly how they would suffer alone. "I say 'negotiate' because I do not expect this to be a smooth process, as I will defend each of your rights to be here as is my duty as First. It is possible that when this is accomplished I will no longer be your First."

"Prime - " Breakdown started, then fell silent as he realized he'd spoken out of turn. Even before Prowl's optics turned to him, he was crouching down from his full height to below Prowl's and submitting. Prowl took the moment to calculate that the outburst had a eighty-five percent chance of being involuntary, and with his Third so obviously penitent, there was no logical reason for the slip to be an issue. Instead, he calculated that there was a greater than sixty percent chance that Breakdown had simply been the bravest of the Decepticons to bring it up.

The logical response was to address the concern. He'd anticipated this too, and prepared his answer. "I have always agreed with Prime's ideals. He should remain the leader of Cybertonians as a race. That is a position given to him by Primus. But the position of Track First was not. The war dictated otherwise, but rightfully, the First the one who wins the challenge races. That point, will be non-negotiable." He paused, as his practiced speech had him do. "Are there any other concerns?"

His Track exchanged looks with each other. Prowl had already addressed the two that had to have been on everyone's processor - the fate of the Decepticon Track members and the future leadership, but there had to be others. Seventy-seven percent likelihood that they would be brought up in private, rather than at a full Track assembly.

After a moment, Mirage, their current Second, spoke up for the group, "There do not seem to be, First."

Prowl nodded. "Dismissed then. Barricade, remain."

The Track filed out of the makeshift moon altar. They had no where to really go, except to the various hidden shelters they'd set up in the area, but they knew that they weren't to stay to eavesdrop. Prowl noted that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were lurking just far enough away to obey Prowl's dismissal, but were still close enough to respond to anything Barricade might do. Worried. Even if that worry was prompted by emotion, Prowl could find no fault in their logic.

"My edict," Prowl began, as soon as the rest of the Track had filed out, "against your participation in challenge races will extend through determining the leadership of the combined Track." He spoke like it was a sure thing that Prime would accede to his stipulations; if he didn't, then this discussion was irrelevant. There was a twenty-six percent chance that negotiations would fail, his processor threw up without asking. "If I do not win the position of First," fifty-four percent of that; he'd never raced Jazz in a challenge fight and the the silver (at least he'd been silver last time Prowl had seen him) were-car had more experience than Prowl did, "I will advise him to the conditions you are under to remain in the Track, but your fate will be decided by the new Track leader." Sixty percent chance that if Jazz won, he'd toss Barricade right out of the Track - he'd done so once before after all. Ninety percent that if one of the Decpticons won, the restrictions would be lifted.

Barricade bristled, but Prowl only brightened his optics very slightly: _What are you going to do about it?_ They'd never really encountered each other on the battlefield before, but neither of them would be alive if now if they both hadn't gotten better at fighting than they had been, and last time they'd faced off, Prowl had nearly won. True he'd had a police blaster at the time, but now they both were armed, and Prowl hadn't been a were-car then and was now. Was Barricade really going to take the risk that Prowl was still better? Prowl couldn't literally see the thoughts run through the other black and white were-car's processor, but the calculations were obvious. Thirty-one percent chance he would take that risk...

He vented air in annoyance and crouched low. Acceptance. "I understand." Prowl flared his optics; he was not going to tolerate *any* insubordination from Barricade. "My First," he growled out reluctantly.

Prowl nodded. "We've set up several solar recharge stations in the area. Go avail yourself of one. You are running at only eighty-nine percent energy levels."

He knew he was going to be banging his processor against a tree later for that, but it was not *logical* to allow a mech to continue running at less than optimal energy levels unless there was no choice. And since Prowl had brought as much of the survival equipment down from the ship as the eleven of them could carry through planetfall, they had the energy to spare, at least for a short while.

He could see that Barricade was surprised. Evidently he'd either expected Prowl's Track to be scrounging for energy as he had been, or that he wouldn't be allowed near their energy reserves yet. Prowl did not explain. He did not have to explain his reasonings to his Track, much less a member like Barricade.

Finally Barricade made a much more sincere bow than previously, and left the circle. Presumably to do as ordered and recharge.

Now Prowl had to privately shut down his logic simulator, and begin his planning to approach Prime.

.

**End Mending Bridges**

**End Divisions**


	15. Home: Cybertron

overall warnings: oddness and supernatural implications

further warnings for this chapter: none  
.

**Were-Cars Diptych Eight: Home**

**Story One: Cybertron**

.

All viruses originated with the sparks.

Primus created life from machine. Where the machines came from or who might have built them, there was no one who knew. Perhaps nothing had built them and they'd come from Primus even before the god breathed life into them. Only the most dedicated of Priests had dared guess.

However it happened, Primus had given them the All Spark, had given them life.

Life was perfection. The sparks built. From metal and energy they built their planet. They built their star - not a true star, but an impressive construction, an unmatched energy generator that powered a web of pipes filled with burning gasses that were released through pores in the metal. They travelled to the distant space and brought back asteroids, for metals, nebula dust for gasses, and chips of ice for no other reason than those sparks that did so believed them beautiful. They joined the planet in orbit around the constructed star that would never burn out, setting each piece perfectly in place.

It was Primus' perfect creation. The system ran with mechanical precession, like creation's largest clockwork device. This was Primus' will.

Before the War, there was much speculation as to how and why the languages of the city-states had diverged from each other. The answer, buried in the pasts of the city-states often was attributed to the regional differences in this legend. The languages of music, the languages of prayer, grew and changed and evolved in tandem with the religions themselves.

Only in Kaon is the same word for "opposite" used for "enemy". In the language of prayer of that city-state, the same word is also used for "brother".

Only in Kaon is it believed that Unicron was Primus' brother.

No two legends agree as to why Unicron did what It did. Some say It was jealous of what Primus and his sparked-children had built. Some say that It looked upon Cybertron's perfection and found it ugly. Others say it was simply that it was Unicron's nature to destroy, as it was Primus' to build. What It did about it, few disputed. It reached into Primus' perfect creation and made it imperfect. The sparks began to come from the All Spark flawed - jealousy, spite, suspicion, rage, despair, hate, were all first woven into the All Spark and into sparks themselves. And with these came care, forgiveness, trust, kindness, joy and love, but these were not Primus' will.

Some emerged from the corrupted All Spark without sentience, only Unicron's emotions and these could change forms, from one machine to another, but this was not Primus's will. They were powerful, and when they attacked their sentient siblings, they took many with them as they died. It forced their sentient brothers to become stronger, faster, and to develop weapons they much later used to defend their race from those outside who would destroy it, and they in turn became stronger faster, but this was not Primus' will.

These new sparks, all of them, both the non-sentient ones and those only flawed by the corruption, destroyed the mechanical precision of Cybertron. The star flickered, though never failed, as it fell into disrepair. Orbits were caused to decay. Asteroids crashed into each other, falling into new patterns, and many came together to create Cybertron's two moons. Comets came close to the star and let loose their spectacular tails for the first time. Ice crystals smashed together and shattered until Cyberton had a set of beautiful rings, not the glittering blanket it had had when each obit had been perfect, and revealed the stars for viewing. Some of the ice crashed into the planet's surface, where it combined with the metals and minerals to fall again as acid rain that further eroded those things built on the surface by Primus' sparks. These rains were also responsible for the formation of the beautiful forests of crystals that grew haphazardly across the planet. But as beautiful as these things were, they were not of Primus' will.

Perhaps destruction was as much Primus' nature as it was Unicron's, Optimus reflected, standing on the launch pad in front of the All Spark as though it held all answers. Around him, his Autobots worked frantically to prepare it for launch before the Decepticons could find them and attack. Other Autobots prepared their defenses against that anticipated attack.

While some versions of the legend said that Primus accepted his creations' flaws and taught them to build and create and walk in his image despite them and created the Prime to guide them in that, more versions said that he lashed out at the warped sparks, trying to destroy them as Unicron had destroyed his perfection.

He created the Matrix (or Matrixes, though only in legend were there ever more than one), which merged with the last spark (or sparks) that had not been corrupted by Unicron's touch on the All Spark, and he (they?) immediately began to hunt down and destroy those sparks flawed by Unicron's gifts of love and hatred. Of course, all sparks came from the All Spark, which is where Unicron had planted his corruption and thus all sparks were so flawed. They resisted destruction, selfish in their corruption and unable to see how the taint they carried would eventually be the end of all things, but were no match to the god-given power of the Prime(s), the last uncorrupted spark(s).

Unicron, as hesitant as Primus had been to let what had ultimately become Its creation, Its perfect clockwork of chaos, be destroyed, responded, as he always had, with Its corrupted touch of the All Spark. It took the strength, and speed, and the ability to change from one form to another from the non-sentient sparks and gave it to the sentient ones. The first shapeshifters. Like many points of the rest of the tale, there was much debate as to what exactly those first shapeshifters were. In Kaon and Vos, the consensus was had been they were were-jets; in Iacon and Praxis most had held that they were were-cars. Elsewhere it was believed that those first shapeshifters were even stranger creatures that only existed in legend. Whatever their specific type, these creatures could match the Prime(s) in battle, and though he (they) killed many, they returned in tenfold numbers, for they could pass their curse on to others and they took up the battle against Primus' pure order.

Again the legends differed greatly at that point. Some said that the shapeshifters managed to kill many Primes, and this is why there had only been one for all their recorded history. Some said that they had killed the single Prime again and again, and the Matrix passed from uncorrupted spark to uncorrupted spark until there were none left that had not been tainted by Unicron's first touch upon the All Spark. Others said that there had only ever been one uncorrupted spark and when the shapeshifters killed him, the Matrix was passed to the hands of the best among the tainted.

And there, Optimus mused, the legends fell suspiciously quiet. None knew, nor seemed to care to speculate, how Cyberton passed from the war of legend, to the peace that had been Cybertron's existence for the entirety of its recorded history. He reached to touch the glyphed surface of the All Spark. Its energy coursed through him, chaotic and life-giving. If he could read those glyphs, would he know the answer? Or was that lost completely to the past, never to be answered, never to lend him a clue of how to bring Cyberton to peace again?

Prowl said that it was most logical that, if one took the legend as the literal truth, the war between the shapeshifters and the Prime, or Primes, had simply devestated Cybertron to the point that they could not fight any longer and when they had rebuilt their society, it was a society (or several, considering the nature of city-states) in which the "taint" of emotion, mecha-critters, Prime, and shapeshifters had always existed, and so their existence did not cause a strain that would erupt into a war the second time.

Was this the renewal of that War? No, Ironhide said. If it were, then there wouldn't be a single shapeshifter who opposed Megatron, and most had opposed him for longer than Optimus had been Prime. Of course, Ironhide put it less eloquently, but the sentiment was there.

But Unicron was chaos, Optimus knew this in his spark. Would It necessarily stop the evolution of Its creations, even if they did not follow his will?

Freedom is the right of all sentient beings.

Strange to think of the highest tenet of the Primes for as long as the records had existed as being the philosophy of their race's greatest evil.

"Prime! It's Megatron!"

Optimus looked to the horizon, and sure enough, there was a single were-jet streaking toward them. His brother.

The time for thought was over.

"Ironhide, Springer, Ultra Magnus - Your teams and I will delay him. Prowl, make sure that thing launches."

He was answered by a chorus of "Yessirs!", but he didn't hear them as he transformed and speeded to intercept his brother. His enemy.

His opposite.

.

**End: Cybertron**


	16. Home: Earth

overall warnings: oddness and supernatural implications

further warnings for this story: none

.

**Were-Cars Diptych Eight: Home**

**Story Two: Earth**

.

Their first meeting after landing on Earth was tense.

Prowl had announced to Optimus his intention to begin negotiations in two weeks to merge their Tracks into one over a long-range communications channel. As expected, he spent them arguing intermittently against Prowl simply coming to him and submitting as had been the standard during the War when two teams needed to be made into one.

Ultimately, and unfortunately, despite every logical argument Prowl levied, it simply came down to Prowl refusing. The War was over, and Prowl was not going to continue the deviations from what were-cars were supposed to be when it was unneeded. Of course Optimus had threatened to have him brought up on charges under Autobot military law, but Prowl had simply questioned how he would enforce it. Prowl's Track was larger, stronger, than Prime's and even if they managed to capture Prowl despite that, they had no way to imprison him as Autobot law demanded.

Optimus was not enough of a killer, nor power hungry enough, to threaten death for a crime for which the punishment capped out at imprisonment.

And Prowl did not say as much to Prime, but he *knew* that Jazz would not stand behind his First, should it come to that. Prow didn't believe Jazz would turn on his First without warning, but he would leave Optimus' Track and join Prowl's. To Optimus it would seem a betrayal, but for Prowl, a were-car did have the right of what Track he chose, if the First would accept him. And Optimus had not been a were-car, or even Prime, when the War had started - Orion hadn't even *believed* in shapeshifters then - and so likely did not realize how much the Autobots had been forced to copy the Decepticons' unnatural command structure in order to combat them. He did not bring that point up during these initial negotiations, saving it for it's emotional shock value for when Optimus renewed his insistence that Prowl submit because he was militarily ranked lower than when they met.

By that point, Prowl's original date of two weeks had passed, so it came time to negotiate a new date and a suitably neutral place. They of course were both jockeying for the the "neutral" spot to be one that favored themselves - they were were-car Firsts after all. Optimus wanted to meet at a place he called the Overlook in Tranquility, near where the five of them had originally landed. Prowl vetoed that and offered a set of coordinates that were up the Clakamas River from Prowl's current territory, near Estacada. That was vetoed by Optimus. And back and forth it went, until they settled on a track of wilderness outside Gold Beach, near the California/Oregon border.

Prowl had sent Bluestreak and Hound down there to scout the location weeks before its possibility as a meeting site was suggested. The trees grew very close together in that area, right up to the soft sand of the beach. The density of the forest and the soft sand both would give Prime quite a bit of trouble for just moving around. If negotiations turned to dominance fights and races, the terrain would favor the lighter, faster models of Prowl's Track rather than the heavier military mechs that most of Prime's Track was made up of. Prowl did not believe Prime had sent scouts north, because if he had, he would never have agreed to the location. And after negotiations began, he would not be able to suggest a new location without losing status he would need for negotiation. Point to Prowl.

After that, they began to settle on a date. Again Prowl worked to gain a subtle advantage. It took only a few carefully worded questions to reveal that Optimus did not believe that Earth's moon had any effect on them. Illogical. Prowl may or may not agree with Jazz as to the origins of shapeshifters and their magical nature, but his cold analysis could not dispute that there was, there would always be, an effect on them from the moon, so long as the planet had at least one. Prowl's Track ran it's races every month. Prowl was not the fastest - Mirage and Breakdown were physically faster (as were Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, but they would not race for their positions; enforcers were chosen by the First) - but he was the most skilled of those in his Track, and without the races, they dissolved into violent brawls. So with Optimus less wary as to the date than he was to the location, Prowl managed to maneuver him into agreeing to a date only a few days before the full moon, when the were-cars would be at their most antsy without it being the night of the full moon itself.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were both being unbelievably smug over the whole negotiation process. Status was a very serious and complicated matter with were-cars, and that their own First was being so much better at the whole thing than the other First tickled their egos and instincts until they'd puffed their armor plates like the bristles of a brush. They were the only two that Prowl had shared the details of his negotiations so far with, and they didn't tell, but their attitude was communicated to the rest of the Track and they were all in a good mood, even Barricade, and would stand firmly behind their First as a better, stronger, cleverer leader than Prime was.

Still, Prowl there was one more factor of status and advantage that he needed to sort out before negotiations formally began: Jazz.

They'd been apart too long, and the cold logic which was itself emotionless, but could calculate the effects of emotions as easily as it could any other variable, insisted that he needed to make the attempt to deny Optimus the advantage Jazz's presence after so long would have over Prowl. He knew that if he had not seen Jazz before the meeting, then he would not be able to think, his focus would be filled with the silver were-car's presence and he would not be able to think past it - emotionless or not. So the night after the full moon, when their were-car instincts and reactions were at their calmest, before the meeting, Prowl sent a request to meet with Jazz a few days before the Tracks would meet, in Gold Beach itself. He was careful to word the request carefully, asking for Jazz by name and not by rank, implying that his Track would still be several days behind him, and saying only that he missed him.

Both Jazz and Prowl had been members of the Autobots when Optimus had become Prime, and he would have had to have been both optic and sensor blind to fail to see that there was something between them, though only the two of them knew everything. Optimus was a creature ruled by his morals and his emotions, not by his instincts and his logic. Had it been otherwise, he would have not granted Prowl's request.

Still, friends, lovers, _Partners_ as they'd been, that first meeting was tense at first. Prowl was First, and Jazz was Second of a Track that was not Prowl's. They bristled and growled at each other at first. They couldn't help it. But for all that the site outside the town had been chosen to disadvantage Prime and his warriors, Gold Beach was neutral territory. They made a few laps around the small town, going up and down the highway a bit, but settled down after a couple of days on a viewpoint overlooking the ocean, resting against each other's sides.

"Missed you," For the first time in Prowl's memory, Jazz spoke Kaonex out loud - more than the few words of absolute trust they shared during interfacing. It was enough to have gotten him branded a Decepticon by most Autobots by the time they'd scattered looking for the All Spark. But they were entirely alone, more alone than either of them had ever been before, since Jazz's, then Prowl's, Track had always been nearby when they'd been together.

Prowl's Praxis-accented Kaonex probably sounded very odd to Jazz. Like Jazz, he knew the dialect - one couldn't decipher intercepted Decepticon transmissions without it - but had never spoken it. "I missed you too."

Jazz purred.

As much as he would have liked to simply sit there and enjoy Jazz's company though, there was business to attend. As the sun slipped the beneath the horizon and the waxing moon began to rise, Prowl broke the silence. "You know what I've planned?"

Jazz laughed. "Nope. And it's best I not, Prowl - I am still part'a Optimus' Track."

"I know." That fact, that it continued to be true though the war was over, troubled Prowl. Logically it shouldn't. And logically, whether Prowl succeeded in joining their Tracks into one or not, he didn't believe it would continue to be true.

"I trust y'." _Partner_. The word went unsaid.

Trust. And Prowl had to repay that trust, be worthy of it. "I've taken on Barricade as part of my Track."

Jazz stiffened. Prowl was the only one who knew - even Sideswipe and Sunstreaker hadn't been informed - that Jazz had once been Second of the Iacon Track. For a day, he'd been its First - the day that Barricade had tried to challenge Jazz for First after arranging to have Redline kidnapped. A kidnapping that had ultimately lead to Jazz's First's death. Something Prowl very well knew, and exactly the reason Prowl had wanted to hit himself after he'd turned off his logic simulator.

Prowl waited for Jazz to respond. He hoped he had not destroyed their trust, but knew he would not hold Jazz's reaction against him, whatever it was. He forced himself to stay calm and relaxed and ignored that instinct that told him that he was _too close_ to another pissed off were-car and he needed to get in a better position to defend himself and show his _inferior_ that he was too strong to be attacked.

Finally Jazz relaxed against Prowl again. "So what was your logic? And what'd y' hit your cranial unit against when y' turned that simulator off?"

The black and white were-car relaxed his processor. Jazz still trusted him. "About half my Track at the moment are surrendered Decepticons; I couldn't logically turn Barricade away without risking a insurrection." He whirred a fan in annoyance at himself. "A tree. Sideswipe stopped me before I could dent myself too badly."

The silver car laughed, as Prowl had thought he would. The statement was even true. "I'll tolerate him. For now."

"Thank you, Jazz."

888

Prowl's Track arrived the next day. Jazz stayed apart from them, as was polite. He did not tell his Track, but knew that the silver car's loyalty to his First had him transmitting the details he was observing to Optimus. Despite his and Jazz's loyalty to each other, he did not begrudge Jazz his loyalty to his First when that First was someone other than Prowl - it was right, in fact that he be loyal to his current First.

He would never be able to completely trust a were-car who betrayed his First. And Jazz knew it.

Besides, Prowl had deemed that Prime needed to be warned of the Decepticons in Prowl's Track, though he did not inform Jazz that he was doing exactly what Prowl wanted him to. They knew each other well enough that Jazz knew he was doing what Prowl wanted him to. And Prowl knew that Jazz knew... absently he shook that thought away. He was fortunately not running his logic simulator right now, or that logic loop would have crashed him. The value of Prime's surprise at their presence was weighed against the chance of a battle once he arrived. So he knew that Jazz was telling Prime all about the presence of Barricade, as well as the prominently displayed Decepticon symbols on Breakdown, Dragstrip, Dead End, and Swindle, and the lack of symbol on Cirrus. Cirrus had been a Decepticon, but had removed his brand when he'd surrendered. It was likely that Jazz and Optimus would conclude he was an escaped neutral - a conclusion that would support Prowl's position and arguments during negotiations. Prowl also knew that Jazz would be able to tell that Breakdown was the Track's Third, and that information would be communicated as well.

Incidentally, Barricade had remained the lowest ranked car, despite Dead End's attempts to supplant him there. The restrictions he'd placed on him, with the explanation that he was a traitor to his first Track, meant that none of the Decepticons had protested when Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, and Bluestreak had picked on him, and none had defended him against the bullying, except perhaps Dead End, but Dead End only did it because he resented the Barricade was lowest ranked and not himself.

(not for the first time, Prowl contemplated having Ratchet look at Dead End's processor once this was over.)

Prime's Track, led by Prime himself, thundered up the highway and crashed through the trees to the meeting site later that night. Prowl turned to him, ready to slip into that cold logic should he need to, but for now, he allowed himself to feel amusement at Prime's annoyed expression as he realized what disadvantage the trees caused him. His amusement spiked, though he was careful not to show it, when he saw Jazz briefly laugh at Prime's annoyance at being out maneuvered. Then he set aside his amusement as a distraction and focused on the task at hand.

"Welcome, Prime." Speaking first - domination, but one he was entitled to, having scored an advantage with the choice of site, and having arrived first.

"Thank you for having me, Prowl." Again Prowl allowed himself a spike of amusement before setting the emotion aside as not helpful. No one else could hear it - perhaps not even Prime himself - but he was very annoyed at being addressed as an equal by Prowl, who had always been his subordinate. Another point to Prowl - if he could not get Prime's agreement through negotiation, he had decided weeks ago to provoke him into surrendering to his were-car instincts and go from there. Something that from the sound of it would be easier than he'd originally calculated, if that one emotion laden sentence was anything to judge by.

Prowl nodded his head smoothly in acknowledgement. "I will come strait to the point: there are not enough of us on this planet to logically remain two Tracks, and while I acknowledge that the necessities of war have dictated that you remain in command of as many of us as would follow you, we are no longer at war, and the Prime was never meant to be the supreme leader of all shapeshifters. We will no longer follow a Prime who is First only because he his Prime."

His line was drawn in the metaphorical sand. Now to see how much of a fight he was in to defend it.

.

**End: Earth**

**End: Home**


	17. In Transit: Red Alert

overall warnings: oddness and supernatural implications

further warnings for this story: none

.

**Were-Cars Diptych Nine: In Transit**

**Story One: Red Alert**

**.**

Red Alert shivered in his armor. There was no where to hide on this (very small) ship. Not even personal quarters. Usually there were personal quarters for himself and the rest of the crew, but that deck had been blown out by Decepticons and their recharge plates had gone with it. They still had their energon reserves, but they were limited, and they couldn't afford to stop yet to refine more at a suitable star. The portable rechargers used for on-planet work were similarly useless without the input of a star. As a result the _Traveler_ was operating under energy rationing protocols.

Which for shapeshifters meant spending all off-duty time in their alternate forms. Vehicle forms used less energy than mech forms - a fact that shapeshifters had known for eons, and had become recognized by the entire Cybertronian race during the War.

Red Alert shivered again.

On most Autobot ships, and all Decepticon ones, this would not have caused any sort of problem.

On the _Traveler_ it did.

Red Alert had been an experienced police-mech, with not inconsiderable experience with shapeshifters and the weaponry and tactics to combat them, but his true value to the Autobots had always been in his networking and coordination abilities. As a result, he had spent most of the War wired into the computers of an Autobot base, directing troops, coordinating actions, and commanding internal security. He'd never faced the enemy except by proxy.

He'd never been infected by any strain of the shapeshifter virus.

No one objected when, the microsecond rationing protocols had gone in effect, he'd locked himself in the _Traveler's_ internal security room and refused to leave. They'd only added "deliver Red Alert his ration of energon" to the duty roster, and left him there.

He was currently wired into the ship's internal security, but allowing the ship's computer to do most of the work it was designed to. It would send any anomalies to Red Alert for him to analyze, and he would be the one responding to those anomalies via the security systems. Technically, he was on-duty. It was a light duty, though, for him or someone else with his networking programming, so he actually spent most of his time in a light power-save mode, only ever responding to anomalies, of which there were few on a ship in deep space.

It kept him from twitching and drawing his weapon every time he heard an engine rumble by outside the room.

The intercom buzzed, indicating someone would like entry into the room. Red Alert booted himself out of power-save and, through the cameras and other sensors in the hallway, knew it was Inferno even before he was fully aware. Another split-second flick of his consciousness through the sensors of the rest of the corridor showed none of the other crew within a mech's normal sensing range. Another mental command and the door unlocked and whooshed open.

It whooshed closed and locked the moment Inferno was inside the room.

Autobot protocol held that a shapeshifter needed to stay in his half or three-quarter forms when on-base. It hadn't always been that way, but the response time of shapeshifters in those forms was greatly increased, and with the decline in non-shapeshifter numbers due to battlefield infections, there had been no reason to risk their lives with staying in full mech form.

Inferno was currently, blatantly, disobeying that edict.

Despite Red Alert's usual strict adherence to the rules, he couldn't help but be grateful.

Inferno took in Red Alert's appraisal of his appearance, then smiled and held up an energon cube. Red Alert, with no energy-efficient vehicle form, was given a larger ration than the rest of the crew, even though he was spending most of his time in a low- or no-activity power-save mode, rousing only to receive his energon and respond to the occasional system anomaly.

"That's Springer's duty today." Red Alert retorted to the silent offer, the constant wariness wearing on his processor. Inferno, Springer and Arcee switched off the duty. Red Alert would only open the door for Inferno or Springer, and Arcee left the cube right outside the door for Red Alert to retrieve once she, and her infectious claws, were out of sight.

Not that Red Alert was distrustful or anything.

Inferno only chuckled at his friend's brusqueness. "I need to relieve you from security duty today, so we thought we'd get this done at the same time."

Fear spiked through Red Alert - he couldn't go out there.

Either something had shown in his posture or energy field, or Inferno just knew his friend that well, because he went on without the other mech saying anything. "You don't have to leave the room, Red, just disconnect for a while. You've been at this three weeks longer than your specs say you should."

Suddenly Red Alert knew why Inferno had come here in his full-mech form, but he couldn't deny the truth Inferno was stating. To do so would be to invite maddness - a path he'd already been down once before. Silently the monitors for the cameras switched on so Inferno could keep his optics on them, then he disconnected from the console. Inferno beamed.

Red Alert's movements were jerky and slightly uncoordinated as he moved forward to take the energon.

Inferno ignored the other mech's awkwardness and moved to seat himself at the security console.

They stayed like that for a long time. Red Alert couldn't relax down into power-save with another mech in the room with him, so he kept twitching violently, drawing his weapon at each rumble of an engine down the corridor, instinctive fear of a shapeshifter in its vehicle form taking hold of him.

_Madness_, he reminded himself each time his processor calmed, _this is what drove me crazy the first time. You need to calm yourself down_. But he couldn't. An uninfected mech's fear of a shapeshifter's vehicle form was spark deep. Insurmountable.

He was a liability.

He could, he analysed as he waited for Inferno's shift to be over so he could go back to the sanctuary of his own processor and the cool hum of the ship's systems, always ask Inferno, or one of the motorcycles, to infect him. Primus, if his systems were compatible, Springer would be pleased to have another helicopter around. It was probably the best solution all around for the set of problems he created.

But he'd never wanted to be a shapeshifter. He'd been lucky to get through the entire war uninfected. If any others had, he would be removing himself completely from them, if he took that route.

No, he wasn't going to do that.

But he wasn't going to continue like this and allow himself to descend into insanity again.

He came to a decision. Aware that he was putting a supreme amount of trust in shapeshifters - but this was Inferno, and other Autobots, who would never hurt him, he mentally soothed the paranoia - he lay back against the wall. After that, he didn't flinch at the sound of engine noise.

888

Inferno finished up his shift and turned around. "Okay, Red, it's all yours agai-"

He stopped. Red Alert hadn't moved. He lay against the wall of the security room, looking like a dead mech, and the massive were-car rushed to his friend's side and hurriedly check Red Alert's systems.

Alive, but in self-induced medical stasis.

Usually a state a mech only went in when heavily damaged, Inferno could see no damage that would prompt his friend into taking that step.

Just then, a loud motorcycle engine - Arcee's - raced down the corridor, a sound Inferno knew Red Alert had become more and more sensitive to during the years they'd been on this ship.

He hummed his own engine. His friend must have done this to escape the mental strain and constant fear being around this many shapeshifters forced to stay in their vehicle forms was causing him. It wouldn't be fair to him to wake him for his shift now. He returned to the security console and rewrote the duty roster so that Red Alert was taken off duty, indefinitely, and his post would be covered by one of the others.

Then he gathered his friend in his arms and took him to the medbay. The recharge plates might not be working right now, but it was still the best place to keep an unconscious mech.

888

Red Alert's optics next flickered on - he automatically pinged the ship's computer for an update to his chronometer - centuries later. He sat up abruptly in surprise. He'd expected them to leave him in stasis only until energon rationing was over - a few weeks. A few months at _most_.

Moonracer, their team's medic, was at his side instantly. Silently she checked him over, and still stunned by the amount of time he'd spent in stasis, he let her. Then she left, and was replaced at his side by Inferno.

He found his vocalizer just as the other mech opened his own mouth. "Why the frag did you keep me in stasis so long?"

Inferno shrugged sheepishly. "We figured that if the strain of being around us was so much you were putting yourself in stasis to get away from it, it'd only be kind to leave you there as long as we could."

That... made sense.

But they were still on the ship, not Cybertron, and there were no alarms going off to indicate they needed him to man the security station for an attack. "So why'd you bring me out of it?"

The other mech held out a datapad. "Got that message about a year ago."

Red Alert played it, surprised to hear Prime's voice. They'd found the Allspark, and Megatron, and destroyed both. They'd found a new home. "... We are here. We are waiting."

He lowered the datapad.

"We've been headed to those coordinates ever since," Inferno continued. "Decepticons started surrendering not long after that went out. We've accepted some of them as crew - almost got a full set of 'cycleshifter groups and a were-car Track now - and some are still in the brig." Red Alert nodded. The expected flare of paranoia passed with the assurance that the crew was being careful with the defectors in his absence.

"Still," he replied, "it won't take long for me to return to the state I was in before the stasis." Especially with Decepticons on board.

Inferno shrugged. "We're only about three weeks out from those coordinates. You can keep yourself locked in the security room that long. And we figured you'd want to be awake when we landed."

Red Alert couldn't help but realize his friend was right.

.

**End Red Alert**


	18. In Transit: Skyfire

overall warnings: oddness and supernatural implications

further warnings for this story: none

.

**Were-Cars Diptych Nine: In Transit**

**Story Two: Skyfire**

**.**

Keeping his solar-obit somewhere in the magnetic field of the system's largest gas giant, Skyfire debated.

He'd been returning to the third planet of this system once every few hundred thousand planetary revolutions to check on it's evolutionary progress. Last time he'd been here there had been a primitive primate species that he'd tagged in his notes as developing sentience, and so he was especially eager to check up on them. Had they survived to develop sentience? Or had they fallen to the rapid changes in environment this planet was prone to and become extinct? If they'd become sentient, how far along were they in their development? Simple tools? Simple machines? Complex machines? He'd been prepared for all of the possibilities.

Except coming into the system to find three Cybertronian ships in orbit and a number of Cybertonian signals being bounced from the planet's surface.

Upon taking those readings, Skyfire had retreated back to the magnetic storms and radiation traps produced by the gas giant to figure out what he was going to do.

He'd stopped getting his updates and reports from Iacon ... Had almost returned to Cybertron to see what had happened, but hadn't been able to bring himself to face the destruction of his race. The last report had said that the Allspark had been lost and that Cybertron was being abandoned by both Autobots and Decepticons to search for it. Skyfire had been very careful to avoid running into other members of his race in the vastness of space. It helped that, in comparison to most Cybertronian craft capable of interstellar travel, he himself was barely a speck of space dust on their sensors.

But he'd never before run into such a high concentration of Cybertronians on a single planet - three Autobot ships in orbit of the star between the second and fourth planets, and one Decepticon one parked on the fourth planet. He hadn't gotten close enough to the planet to distinguish how many Cybertronians may be on the surface of the planet before retreating, just that they were there.

So he lurked, debating what he was to do. So far he couldn't detect the sort of transmissions that would indicate that a battle had erupted over the system - coded messages, updates, distress calls... - but wasn't certain that approaching an uncontested Autobot-held planet was any better.

He was about to turn around and head out of the system, without contacting the Autobots - he wanted nothing to do with their war - when he was contacted.

"Unknown Cybertronian," the voice was fuzzy and cracked with static over the comm system, "This system is under Autobot protection. Please identify yourself." Again Skyfire debated turning tail and leaving, without answering. He wanted nothing to do with the Autobots. But whoever was on the other end of the comm had thought of that, probably months or years before Skyfire had entered the system. "Failure to do so will result in the activation of automated defenses near your position."

Slag. He'd thought the gas giant's magnetic field would hide him from sensors. Apparently war had been good for technological advances.

Reluctantly he opened his own comm, answering, "This is Skyfire, xenobiologist and organic-planetary researcher. I want nothing to do with your war. Let me go and you won't see so much as a sensor echo of me again."

He hoped they would. Unless the attitudes of the two factions had changed drastically after he'd lost contact with Iacon, Skyfire thought the Autobots would. It was long, tense, minutes while he waited for the signal to travel the planetary distances from the gas giant to the third planet and back. Tensely he scanned for the automated defenses the speaker had mentions, and found some of them, hidden on the surface of nearby moons and in the planetary rings. Briefly he wondered how the controller would activate them before Skyfire left, since the comm transmissions were restricted to the speed of light, but then recalled the later updates he'd gotten from Iacon in a faster-than-light pulse format. It wasn't suitable for conversation, and wasn't instant, but he wasn't far enough away for the lag to be significant, and was more than suitable enough to transmit an activation code.

So he waited for the answer, doing nothing that would provoke the Autobots on the planet to activate the weapons.

"Negative," the answer came, "Please proceed to the third planet in this system, spend one planetary rotation in orbit, then land at the coordinates that will be given to you then."

Of course the sound didn't carry in space, but Skyfire stripped a gear in frustration. He didn't want to go anywhere near the Autobots. They were going to try and recruit him like they had every other non-Decepticon shapeshifter on Cybertron.

Well, he'd see about that. Skyfire may not be a soldier, but he was still dangerous.

He just hoped he wouldn't be forced to prove it.

.

**End Skyfire**

**End In Transit**

A/N: I've gotten several reviews asking how often I update this story. For all those who are curious, the answer is: whenever the next pieces are written. I am thinking and writing these, just not as fast or as often as I'd like. I won't promise to write more or faster if I get reviews, but I have noticed that I do tend to do so when I get feedback.


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